textual overtures, v1.1 (april 2013)

Textual Overtures

Texts, Technologies, and Remediation

April 2013Issue 1 Volume 1

A Journal Encompassing the Teaching, Interpretation, and Production of Texts

Textual Overtures

A Journal Encompassing the Teaching, Interpretation, and Production of Texts

Courtney King, Editor

Jennifer Lin O’Brien, Tech Editor

Kerry Clark, Assistant Tech Editor

Lindsay Williams, Literature Editor

Thomas Pickering, Rhetoric and Composition Editor

Catherine Tetz, Communications Editor

Washington State University

http://textualovertures.wordpress.com/

Editorial Board

Benjamin Carlton, Aminah Barnes Cannon, Aree Metz, and Lindsay Williams.

About Textual Overtures

Textual Overtures is dedicated to creating a space in which rhetoric, composition,

and literature can coexist, and further, create a harmony of textual explorations.

We are a coalition of graduate students at Washington State University

committed to promoting a community of graduate scholarship and discourse. We

envision Textual Overtures as a cacophony of scholarship which forms a stage for

interdisciplinary and multi-perspectived inquiry. We invite graduate students from

a variety of settings to submit their work for consideration by their peers.

Authors retain publication rights to their work, as well as the right to copyright

their materials or licence them under Creative Commons. Textual Overtures

publishes all texts with the permission of their authors. Texts may not be

published, printed, edited or otherwise used without the permission of the

author. The work in Textual Overtures, however, may be read online, downloaded

or printed for personal use. Textual Overtures publishes material under a non-

exclusivity policy (so that authors can retain the right to submit their work

elsewhere) and accepts simultaneous submissions.

Statement of Copyright

Design, layout, and cover illustration by Jennifer Lin O’Brien.

Textual Overtures

Volume One Issue One April 2013

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15

38

47

57

Crucial Convergence: Scott Pilgrim as Transmedial Test Case

Kyle Eveleth

7MKRM½GERX�-RXIVZEPW�&IX[IIR�4VMRX�ERH�:MHIS�4SIXV]

Rachael Sullivan

9WMRK�*EGIFSSO�;MXLMR�E�'SQTSWMXMSR�'SYVWI�XS�4VSQSXI�-VE�7LSV´W��±0MFIVEXSV]�0IEVRMRK²

Gina Marie Giardina

2IKSXMEXMRK�[MXL�ER�-QEKMREV]�%YHMIRGI��0MQMXEXMSRW�of Social Constructivist Notions of Ethos for First-Year Composition

Katrina L. Miller

6IZMI[�SJ�Reading, Writing, and the Rhetorics of Whiteness

/VMWXM�1G(YJ½I

Textual Overtures 1.1 | April 2013 1

Crucial Convergence: Scott Pilgrim as Transmedial Test Case

Kyle Eveleth

I hear the book was better than the movie.

—Comeau, Scott Pilgrim vs. The World

Henry Jenkins claims that the entertainment industry in the West these days is “horizontal” (Jenkins 1). Entertainment companies like Warner Brothers have begun to expand their holdings outside RI�WKHLU�WUDGLWLRQDO�ÀHOGV��LQ�WKLV�FDVH�FLQHPD��WR�RWKHU�PHGLD�IRUPV�like comics and video games, creating a distribution network that can turn intellectual property from a single text into a sprawling franchise. In the case of Warner Brothers, concerted distribution through its holdings allowed for the systematic release of single-IUDQFKLVH�RͿHULQJV�OLNH�Batman��EHIRUH�WKH�ÀOP�FRPHV�D�EDFNVWRU\�FRPLF�� D� IHDWXUH� ÀOP� UHOHDVH� IROORZV�� DQG� DIWHU� WKH� ÀOP� FRPHV� D�video game that expands on the story. This kind of cross-media HQWHUWDLQPHQW� JRHV� E\� PDQ\� QDPHV�� EXW� WKH� ÀUVW� DQG� SHUKDSV�most appropriate is Henry Jenkins’s transmedial storytelling. Carlos $OEHUWR� 6FRODUL� GHÀQHV� WUDQVPHGLD� VWRU\WHOOLQJ� DV� ´D� SDUWLFXODU�QDUUDWLYH�VWUXFWXUH�WKDW�H[SDQGV�WKURXJK�ERWK�GLͿHUHQW�ODQJXDJHV�(verbal, iconic, etc.) and media (cinema, comics, television, video games, etc.),” but is careful to note that this storytelling is distinct from simple franchise merchandising in that

TS is not just an adaptation from one media to another. The story that the comics tell is not the same as that told on WHOHYLVLRQ�RU�LQ�FLQHPD��WKH�GLͿHUHQW�PHGLD�DQG�ODQJXDJHV�participate and contribute to the construction of the transmedia narrative world. This textual dispersion is one of the most important sources of complexity in contemporary popular culture. (587)

9HU\�GLͿHUHQW�IURP�WKH�DJH�ROG�SUDFWLFH�RI�DGDSWLQJ�D�VWRU\�IURP�RQH�narrative medium to another, transmedial stories “are stories told across multiple media” (Jenkins 2003, emphasis added). Instead of

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The author is a graduate student at the University of Kentucky.

Textual Overtures 1.1 | April 2013

attempting to retell stories as similarly as possible despite mediary GLͿHUHQFHV�� WUDQVPHGLDO� VWRULHV� ERWK� UHO\� DQG� FDSLWDOL]H� RQ� WKH�LQKHUHQW�GLͿHUHQFHV�EHWZHHQ�PHGLD�IRUPV��PHDQLQJ�WKDW�

each medium does what it does best—so that a story might EH�LQWURGXFHG�LQ�D�ÀOP��H[SDQGHG�WKURXJK�WHOHYLVLRQ��QRYHOV��and comics, and its world might be explored and experienced through game play. Each franchise entry needs to be self-contained enough to enable autonomous consumption. That LV��\RX�GRQ·W�QHHG�WR�KDYH�VHHQ�WKH�ÀOP�WR�HQMR\�WKH�JDPH�and vice-versa. (Jenkins 3)

Transmedial stories represent a kind of ideal outcome for contemporary convergence culture. In part a logical extension of the Bakhtinian and Todorovian semiotic concept of intertextuality, now a buzzword in literary and cultural studies, and Kress and van Leeuwen’s educational concept of multimodality, a buzzword in pedagogical studies, the concept of transmediality—or the quality of a work of art of spanning multiple media platforms in a convergent manner—ties together issues of contemporary mass-media consumption, participation, and multimodal identity formation. By virtue of “bleeding over” the margins of their harnessed media forms, transmedial stories examine both these borders and the liminal spaces between media, such as the GLͿHUHQFHV� DQG� VLPLODULWLHV� EHWZHHQ� VFHQH� FUHDWLRQ� IRU� FLQHPDWLF�narrative and for graphic narrative. Their exploration exposes the limits of single media forms even as they celebrate the convergence of multiple media platforms to create cohesion in narrative, and their example leads a generation to similar participatory and performative gestures of exploration.

But not all texts created from (or in reaction to) contemporary convergence culture are transmedial. Jenkins notes that “not all VWRULHV�ÁRZ�DFURVV�PHGLDµ��³LQ�IDFW��´PRVW�ZRQ·Wµ��³DQG�QRW�all stories that take up the reins of multiple media platforms are indeed “transmedial.” He explains that though a “good franchise” might be successfully generated from good characters, a transmedia franchise is spawned from a “good ‘world’” (3). Transmedia franchises encourage consumers to come to the stories through GLͿHUHQW�SK\VLFDO�DFFHVV�SRLQWV� �JDPHV��ÀOPV��ERRNV��E\�XWLOL]LQJ�HDFK� PHGLXP·V� VWUHQJWKV� WR� UHDFK� PDQ\� GLͿHUHQW� DXGLHQFHV��representing the pinnacle of convergence culture. For example, avid readers of the Harry Potter books who have never picked up a video game may be enticed by the possibility of taking a more active role LQ�WKH�ZRUOG�WKURXJK�WKH�YLGHR�JDPH�RͿHULQJV��%\�IRFXVLQJ�RQ�WKHVH�GLͿHUHQW� PHQWDO� VWDWHV³REVHUYHU� DQG� SDUWLFLSDQW³WKH� IUDQFKLVH�VXEWO\�SXVKHV�IDQV�WR�FRQVXPH�WKH�PHGLD�RͿHULQJV�WKDW�JLYH�WKHP�the best opportunities to realize those states.

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+RZHYHU��WLPHV�KDYH�FKDQJHG�VLQFH�0DUVKD�.LQGHU�ÀUVW�SURSRVHG�the concept of “transmedia” in 1991, and nearly a decade has SDVVHG�VLQFH�-HQNLQV�ÀUVW�GLVFXVVHG�GHSWK�RI�FKDUDFWHU�EDVHG�XSRQ�WUDQVPHGLD� SUDFWLFHV�� 0RVW� VLJQLÀFDQW� RI� WKHVH� FKDQJHV� LV� WKH�accepted normalcy of multiple media platforms and multimodal consumption, to the point that folks born since 1984 are often called “digital natives,” accustomed more to digital forms and the Internet than their predecessors. These digitized individuals are beginning to craft texts in what we might call their “native tongue,” the transmedial format, and these texts must be reckoned with to more completely understand transmedial storytelling as well as the culture that now lives steeped in multimodal access to information. To that end, I examine the intensely “Millennial” text of Scott Pilgrim. Though Scott Pilgrim is an intellectual franchise that has indeed spanned multiple media platforms, it ostensibly falls short RI� DFKLHYLQJ� ZKDW� -HQNLQV� GHÀQHV� DV� ´WUDQVPHGLD� VWRU\WHOOLQJ�µ�Where it falls short, however, illustrates not a failure to achieve WUDQVPHGLDOLW\�EXW�LQVWHDG�D�QHFHVVLW\�WR�UH�H[DPLQH�WKH�GHÀQLWLRQ�and current understanding of what it means to be transmedial. Simply stated, Scott Pilgrim is an example of transmedia storytelling, crafted by a Millennial culture that is native to these practices, but RQH�WKDW�IRUFHV�XV�WR�UHGHÀQH�ZKDW�PD\�EH�UHFNRQHG�WUDQVPHGLDO�precisely because of this acculturation to transmedial practice.

Scott Pilgrim (2005-2010), Bryan Lee O’Malley’s six-volume graphic “chronicle,” interweaves classic manga style with popular culture references thick enough to raise a blush in Joss Whedon, a sort of ersatz oracle and touchstone of whatever it is that is considered the Millennial identity, at least in terms of popular culture—Whedon goes so far as to call Scott Pilgrim “the chronicle of our time” (back cover of volume one, emphasis added). Readers follow Canadian twentysomething Scott, a representative of the new generation of slacker kids raised on videogames and Toonami, through his romantic struggle to win the heart of “American delivery ninja” Ramona Flowers [age: unknown]. Struggle here is not metaphorical EXW�OLWHUDO��WR�ZLQ�5DPRQD·V�DͿHFWLRQV��6FRWW�PXVW�GHIHDW�KHU�6HYHQ�Evil Exes, who formed a league after a drunken rant on Craigslist by the head of the League, Gideon Graves. Along the way on his (mock) heroic epic, Scott faces the expected trials and tribulations that should help him mature and grow into a likeable character. But, as we shall soon see, growing up is hard to do and Scott dislikes trials (unless they come in quest form). Things get complicated when Scott must tackle such issues as taking responsibility for past mistakes and maybe not lying for once in his life. Equal parts heroic HSLF��YLGHRJDPH�WULEXWH��PXVLFDO�OH[LFRQ��ÀOP�DQG�WHOHYLVLRQ�WULYLD�game, slice of life narrative, and failed-bildungsroman, Scott Pilgrim H[HPSOLÀHV�WKH�K\SHUWH[WXDO��LQWHU�UHODWLRQDO�PHGLD�FRQVFLRXVQHVV�

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WKDW�ODUJHO\�GHÀQHV�FRQWHPSRUDU\�OLIH�IRU�WKH�0LOOHQQLDO�JHQHUDWLRQ��it goes so far as to proclaim its graphic representation is the late Millennial generation reader’s life.

7R�XQGHUVWDQG� KRZ� WKLV� WH[W� UHGHÀQHV� WKH� FRQWHPSRUDU\� LGHD� RI�transmedial storytelling, we must examine transmedial storytelling in the terms that its greatest proponent, Henry Jenkins, lays RXW�� ([DPLQLQJ� DQG� DSSO\LQJ� WKLV� GHÀQLWLRQ� LV� WKH� ÀUVW� VWHS� LQ�identifying how Scott Pilgrim�LQLWLDOO\�IDOOV�VKRUW�EXW�ODWHU�UHGHÀQHV�the transmedial phenomenon. Transmedial storytelling “represents D� SURFHVV� ZKHUH� LQWHJUDO� HOHPHQWV� RI� D� ÀFWLRQ� JHW� GLVSHUVHG�systematically across multiple delivery channels for the purpose RI� FUHDWLQJ� D� XQLÀHG� DQG� FRRUGLQDWHG� HQWHUWDLQPHQW� H[SHULHQFHµ�(Jenkins 2007 np). That is, there are three essential components of transmedial storytelling: that the elements be “dispersed systematically” and that this dispersal take place “across multiple delivery channels” (which I will call condition A), that the dispersed elements must be “integral” to the story (condition B), and that WKH� HOHPHQWV� FUHDWH� ´D� XQLÀHG� DQG� FRRUGLQDWHG� HQWHUWDLQPHQW�experience” (condition C��7KXV��IRU�H[DPSOH��D�ÀOP�DGDSWDWLRQ�RI�a book may not be transmedial because it may not meet condition B, though it meets condition A�DQG�SDUWLDOO\�VDWLVÀHV�FRQGLWLRQ�C. Furthermore, Jenkins notes a fourth “ideal” condition (D), that “each medium makes its own unique contribution to the unfolding of the story” (ibid.). Though not necessary—and indeed one of the trickier parts of the process of transmediation—awareness of medium limitations and exploration of them as part of the story can make a transmedial storytelling act even more compelling. Jenkins RͿHUV�The Matrix franchise as a notable example of a transmedial act that meets all four conditions (ibid.). I argue that the Scott Pilgrim IUDQFKLVH�GRHV�QRW�PHHW�DOO�RI�WKHVH�FULWHULD��QDPHO\��LW�KDV�GLFXOW\�reaching conditions B, C, and D even as it approaches them), but further examination of the other criteria will shed light on how and why the franchise misses these marks and what this means for transmedia in general.

The elements of condition A are essentially cultural and economic in nature. Jenkins explains that transmedial storytelling is made possible in part because it is “the ideal aesthetic form” for a time marked by what Pierre Levy calls “collective intelligence,” or “new social structures that enable the production and circulation of knowledge within a networked society.” Additionally, transmedial SURGXFWLRQ�´UHÁHFWV�WKH�HFRQRPLFV�RI�PHGLD�FRQVROLGDWLRQ�RU�ZKDW�LQGXVWU\� REVHUYHUV� FDOO� ¶V\QHUJ\·µ� �-HQNLQV�� D� ´FRQÀJXUDWLRQ� RI�the entertainment industry [that] makes transmedia expansion an economic imperative” even while it allows “the most gifted transmedia artists [to] also surf these marketplace pressures to

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create a more expansive and immersive story than would have been possible otherwise.” Furthermore, franchises are often most successful in coordinating synergistic releases when the same author oversees their production and especially when divisions of the same parent company (rather than licensing agreements to other companies) are utilized in the production and release of the property.

In the case of Scott Pilgrim, Bryan Lee O’Malley began working on WKH�ÀOP��Scott Pilgrim vs. the World��MXVW�DIWHU�WKH�ÀUVW�YROXPH�was released. He explained via interview that his “publisher [Oni Press] has a sort of Hollywood arm” that passed his idea on to producer Marc Platt in 2004 (Winning 1), noting that the time between conception and release was due to director Edgar Wright’s intervening work on Hot Fuzz (2007), “so [the delay was] just the natural cycle of his work or whatnot” (Winning 1). In addition, production of the Ubisoft-designed game Scott Pilgrim vs. the World: The Game (2010) was announced at the San Diego Comic &RQYHQWLRQ�LQ�-XO\�RI��VRPHWLPH�DIWHU�WKH�ÀIWK�ERRN�EXW�EHIRUH�WKH� VL[WK� �8ELVRIW� QS�� 7KH� V\QHUJLVWLF� HͿHFW� RI� OD\HUHG� UHOHDVHV�drives media hype (as the book concludes, the movie is released and the game is released shortly thereafter) even as it increases modes of access for potential readers. This synergistic release PRGHO� UHÁHFWV� D� V\VWHPDWLF� GLVSHUVDO� RI� SURGXFWV� DFURVV� PHGLD�for both cultural reasons (building readership, encouraging fan communities and participation) and economic reasons (building on the success of previous installments, increasing markets). In this way, the franchising of Scott Pilgrim�LQWR�D�ÀOP�DQG�JDPH�DV�ZHOO�DV�D�ERRN�VHULHV�VDWLVÀHV�FRQGLWLRQ�A of transmediality.

7R�HͿHFWLYHO\�DFKLHYH�WUDQVPHGLDWLRQ�DV�-HQNLQV�GHÀQHV�LW��D�JLYHQ�franchise is released episodically (in line with the systematic nature of transmedia) with each episode “accessible on its own terms even as it makes a unique contribution to the narrative system as a whole.” That is to say that consumers do not necessarily need to have read the book to enjoy the movie and vice-versa, but that doing so will enhance enjoyment or in some way alter their comprehension of the story. To that end, transmedial extensions “serve a variety RI�GLͿHUHQW� IXQFWLRQV�µ� VXFK�DV�SURYLGLQJ� LQVLJKW� LQWR�FKDUDFWHUV·�OLYHV��EXLOGLQJ�WKH�ÀFWLRQDO�ZRUOG�RI�WKH�VWRU\��UHWHOOLQJ�JORVVHG�RYHU�events in between installments in other media forms, or increasing WKH�UHDOLVP�RI�WKH�ÀFWLRQDO�ZRUOG�E\�SURYLGLQJ�RU�EXLOGLQJ�KLVWRULFDO�documentation. These practices expand the marketability of the SURGXFW�E\�´FUHDWLQJ�GLͿHUHQW�SRLQWV�RI�HQWU\�IRU�GLͿHUHQW�DXGLHQFH�segments,” which may in turn lead to these consumers accessing the product on other media platforms: gamers may become moviegoers and moviegoers may buy books. More important than

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the systematic and episodic manner of distribution—an extension of condition A—these products must form a cohesive product-construct in order to be viably transmedial. Referring to Neil Young’s concept of “additive comprehension,” Jenkins explains that new texts should add a “piece of information which forces us WR�UHYLVH�RXU�XQGHUVWDQGLQJ�RI�WKH�ÀFWLRQ�DV�D�ZKROH�µ�UDWKHU�WKDQ�simply rehashing the same story in essentially the same manner (para. 8). Some of these new pieces of information exist because of the addition of new modalities to the product, such as the inclusion RI�PXVLF�RU�VRXQG�HͿHFWV�� WKH�FDVWLQJ�RI�FHUWDLQ�DFWRUV� WR�SRUWUD\�characters, and enlightened level design that mimics themes and motifs found in other texts. Other pieces of new information might include dramatic reinterpretations or additions to the series, such as the reinterpretation of the titular character of Beowulf in Robert Zemeckis’ adaptation.

Though the Scott Pilgrim franchise takes part in many of these transmedial actions, its enactment of transmedia storytelling ODFNV�WKH�GLͿHUHQWLDWLRQ�WKDW�-HQNLQV�UHTXLUHV�LQ�KLV�GHÀQLWLRQ��,Q�D�way, Scott Pilgrim�KDV�GLFXOW\�XVLQJ�LWV�PXOWLPHGLD�SODWIRUPV�WR�reinterpret the story or add distinct but cohesive parts to the whole tale. Unlike The Matrix, a franchise that Jenkins explains has no “ur-text where one can turn to gain all of the information needed to comprehend the Matrix universe” (para. 3), the Scott Pilgrim books are arguably the only place one need go to get the entire story. The ÀOP·V� DGGLWLRQ� RI� QHZ�PRGDOLWLHV� DQG� ODQJXDJHV�� QDPHO\� DXGLR��and movement-based, indeed adds new layers of meaning to the UHDGLQJ�H[SHULHQFH�RI�WKH�ERRNV��7KH�SDUWLDOO\�KRQRULÀF��SDUWLDOO\�parodic relationship between Scott Pilgrim and The Legend of Zelda that is set up and explored verbally and visually in the books is further explored by the inclusion of the iconic Legend of Zelda: A Link to the Past�LQWURGXFWLRQ�PXVLF�LQ�WKH�RSHQLQJ�VFHQH�RI�WKH�ÀOP��7KLV� WURSH� LV�PDLQWDLQHG� WKURXJKRXW� WKH�ÀOP� WKURXJK� WKH�XVH� RI�VRXQG�HͿHFWV�OLNH�WKH�ÁXWH�VRQJ�IURP�WKH�VDPH�JDPH�DQG�D�YHUVLRQ�of Zelda’s widely-used “Faerie Grotto” song. The added layer of the auditory mode to the narrative gestures widely at the same kind of tropes in the books in a way that other viewers or readers—perhaps those most interested in the musical aspect of games—will access readily. In much the same way, the design of the video game, a side-scrolling beat-em-up, plays on kinesthetic modalities through its retrospective gameplay and the visceral act of controlling Scott through his battles. The nature of “avatardom” that he takes on in the reading becomes literalized as the player controls him in the game, thus realizing in a manner the books’ various admissions that Scott Pilgrim is in part the life of the reader who controls it. These modal inclusions in media adaptations, while useful in constructing meaning and changing the way the reader experiences each text,

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are not strictly transmedial. The problem lies in the story being told, ZKLFK�LV�HVVHQWLDOO\�WKH�VDPH�LQ�HDFK�RͿHULQJ��ZKHWKHU�FRQGHQVHG�IRU�WLPH�DQG�HDVH��DV�LQ�WKH�ÀOP��RU�FKDQJHG�WR�VXLW�VLPSOLVWLF�DQG�accessible gameplay) and which adds very little in terms of content to the understanding of the story. No backstories are explored here, and the world of Scott Pilgrim is rather static between media forms.

7KLV�ODFN�RI�QDUUDWLYH�GLͿHUHQWLDWLRQ�DQG�ZRUOG�H[SORUDWLRQ�VHHPV�to spoil Scott Pilgrim’s claim to transmedial storytelling. As I noted earlier, Jenkins argues that transmedial storytelling is the ideal aesthetic for a culture of collective intelligence, where ideas and concepts converge and are exchanged freely and openly between intellects and media. Levy has previously argued that art in the age of collective intelligence functions as a “cultural attractor” that pulls like-minded individuals together to form new knowledge communities—something Jenkins has studied at great length in his work on fan communities like those centered around Star Trek and Twin Peaks—and Jenkins extends this argument to say that transmedia storytelling is likewise a “textual activator,” a catalyst for “setting into motion the production, assessment, and archiving information” of a given product (para. 8). The actions set into motion by the text—production, assessment, and archiving—are a few of the roles generated by transmedial storytelling. Transmedial storytelling incentivizes readerly participation, especially where generation is concerned, and it is in this respect—in its ability to mobilize readers and reposition the traditional roles of writer and reader—that Scott Pilgrim alters transmediation in an intriguing ZD\��7KLV�LPSRUWDQW�VKLIW�LQ�IRFXV�IURP�OLWHUDO�ZRUOG�EXLOGLQJ��ÀOOLQJ�out the parts of the world left open by the creators) to metaphorical ZRUOG�EXLOGLQJ��DSSO\LQJ�WKH�UXOHV�RI�WKH�ÀFWLRQDO�ZRUOG�WR�PDNH�inferences about that world) harnesses the kind of nuanced and subversive treatment of tradition and convention rampant in Scott Pilgrim��7KH�GLͿHUHQFH��OLNH�WKH�DZDUHQHVV�WKDW�Scott Pilgrim applies, LV�EHVW�VKRZQ�E\�GLͿHUHQFH��

Jenkins maintains that the most successful transmedia stories are ´EDVHG� QRW� RQ� LQGLYLGXDO� FKDUDFWHUV� RU� VSHFLÀF� SORWV� EXW� UDWKHU�FRPSOH[�ÀFWLRQDO�ZRUOGV�ZKLFK� FDQ� VXVWDLQ�PXOWLSOH� LQWHUUHODWHG�characters and their stories” (para. 5). A classic example of Jenkins’s kind of transmedia world is the Dungeons and Dragons franchise, one that has widely embraced transmediality in its world-building focus. One of the transmedial stories that is told via D&D is that of dark elf Drizzt Do’Urden. Created as a secondary character by R.A. Salvatore in the Forgotten Realms campaign setting, Drizzt has starred outside of the tabletop roleplaying genre in a series of novels, graphic narratives, and video games. Though Drizzt’s story is iconic and provides a focal point for the series, the setting is rich

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enough that the media accessories to his story, like the game Baldur’s Gate: Dark Alliance, which explores parts of Drizzt’s underground home and the culture of his native people, or the D&D supplement Hall of Heroes, which examines his fellow heroes and adventuring companions, allow for greater access to the world around Drizzt while they simultaneously improve focus on him as a protagonist.

,Q�D�VRPHZKDW�GLͿHUHQW�ZD\�WKDQ�WKH�GULYH�WR�EXLOG�WKH�VWRULHV�WKDW�take place in the multimedia Forgotten Realms setting—of which Drizzt’s story is but one example—Scott Pilgrim builds a story that includes the rules of the world in which it occurs. Rather than PDNLQJ�FKDUDFWHUV�DQG�EXLOGLQJ�VWRULHV�DERXW�KRZ�WKH\�ÀW�LQWR�WKH�world, readers of Scott Pilgrim are encouraged to build connections between the stories shown in the works by building the world DURXQG�WKHP�� ,QVWHDG�RI�D�ZRUOG�FHQWULF�YLHZ�RI� WKH�ÀFWLRQ��Scott Pilgrim� HPEUDFHV� D� FKDUDFWHU�FHQWULF� YLHZ� RI� WKH� ÀFWLRQ�� 7KRXJK�WKH�GLͿHUHQFHV� LQ�H[HFXWLRQ�FRXOG�EH�GUDZQ�RXW�DQG�PDGH�PRUH�complex, it seems more prudent to state that the processes—at least in terms of how fans partake in them—are functionally similar. That is to say that, though Scott Pilgrim’s world-building is sparked by a character and not a world, the end result is the same: a complex, SDUWLFLSDWLRQ�GULYHQ�ÀFWLRQDO�ZRUOG� WKDW� LV�PDGH� VWURQJHU� E\� WKH�fans it attracts.

This process of world-building encourages the “encyclopedic LPSXOVHµ�WR�NQRZ�HYHU\WKLQJ�WKHUH�LV�WR�NQRZ�DERXW�WKH�ÀFWLRQDO�world. We might think, for example, of those Star Wars fans who pondered the ecology of Tatooine based on its extraordinary solar radiation—a decidedly extratextual concept, but one that is supported by the narrative nonetheless—or those who explored the tension between Wookies and Imperial forces following enslavement. These encyclopedic ambitions “often result in what might be seen as gaps or excesses in the unfolding of the story,” opening the way for fans to become “unauthorized” authors of untold stories within the universe (para. 12). To keep track of the world’s “rules”—the understandings that drive and regulate these unauthorized stories and underpin the authorized ones—many fans have taken to creating encyclopedias of information. Jenkins notes that the expansive and inclusive nature of transmedia storytelling “provides a set of roles and goals which readers can assume as they enact aspects of the story through their everyday life,”, making transmedia storytelling a deeply fan-centric and participatory endeavor (para. 11).

Perhaps the most compelling evidence, then, of Scott Pilgrim’s transmedial nature lies in its ability to create the encyclopedic impulse for its readers because of its ability to incentivize participation and provide these everyday roles and goals. However, rather than

8


building a Scott Pilgrim world in which the readers can frolic and create, the Scott Pilgrim franchise evokes many of the always-already participatory forms of engagement that exist in the culture that not only allows but perhaps demands transmedia storytelling. Because (as I argued in the previous chapter) Scott Pilgrim is a pastiche crafted from a web of references and allusions that both parody and pay homage to their sources, the impulse for many serious readers becomes the drive to collect and know all of these potential references. The development of a Scott Pilgrim wiki to attempt to catalogue all the nuances and references surrounding the work, as well as the exhaustive fan-submitted trivia section of the Scott 3LOJULP�YV�� WKH�:RUOG� ,QWHUQHW�0RYLH�'DWDEDVH�SDJH��H[HPSOLÀHV�this drive to encyclopedic knowledge. The drive to collect this Scott Pilgrim trivia is extraordinary: actress Anna Kendrick, who SRUWUD\V�6WDF\�3LOJULP�LQ�WKH�ÀOP��PHQWLRQV�LQ�WKH�FRPPHQWDU\�WKDW�her name badge is the actual name badge of the “real world Stacy Pilgrim,” a fact that she notes needs to be put on IMDB right away. The encyclopedic desire must be enormous when the actors of the ÀOP³DFWRUV�ZKR�DUH�DOO�SDUW�RI�WKH�PLOOHQQLDO�JHQHUDWLRQ�WKDW�Scott Pilgrim depicts—are aware of the depth of the fan base and the urge to know everything there is to know about the Scott Pilgrim world.

However, Scott Pilgrim is not a traditionally transmedial case because of its lack of traditional world-building, as explained earlier in relation to Dungeons and Dragons. In fact, the Scott Pilgrim franchise, with its devoted focus on Scott, appears initially not to open the door for much exploration of the world around him. As I QRWHG�HDUOLHU��WKH�ODFN�RI�QDUUDWLYH�GLͿHUHQWLDWLRQ�KLQGHUV�WKH�DFW�RI�world-building in some ways, but it is in Scott Pilgrim’s generally subversive treatment of tradition, narration, and participation that its distinctive brand of transmediality becomes more clear. Scott Pilgrim questions the validity of narrative focus through its language by tearing Scott down as a protagonist and revealing his faults. In addition, it questions narrative focus not only by suggesting that other stories are going on around Scott—that, by virtue of being elevated to the level of pseudo-Grand-Narrative, the narrative also ignores or silences other stories—but also by drawing attention to these “side narratives” constantly. Scott Pilgrim reminds readers that Scott’s friends have lives that do not revolve around Scott, even though it initially seems as though he is their universe. Looking just at the titles of the book series, the focus wavers: Scott is always present, always foregrounded, but the backdrop of each volume shifts to encompass or exclude others, and HYHQ�WKH�WLWOHV�UHÁHFW�WKLV�QDUUDWLYH�IRFXV��:H�EHJLQ�ZLWK�KLV�Precious Little Life��IRFXVLQJ�HQWLUHO\�RQ�6FRWW��LQGHHG��WKH�ÀUVW�ZRUGV�RI�WKH�volume hammer this focus home: “Scott Pilgrim is dating a high schooler” is deemed worthy of opening the entire work). Volume

9


two raises the adversarial stakes by pitting Scott against the world. Interestingly, the two middle volumes feature much of the side-character building in the series—this is where readers learn more about Kim’s past, discovering that she has a life outside of Scott, and also where readers begin to see the cracks in Stephen’s relationship with Julie and his newfound happiness with Joseph. Despite all this, the books focus unwaveringly on Scott: on his ,QÀQLWH�6DGQHVV�and how he Gets It Together. Yet we never return to these important VLGH�VWRULHV��LQ�YROXPH�ÀYH��LW�LV�6FRWW�Versus the Universe, and our ÀQDO�YLHZ�RI� WKH�VHULHV� LV�6FRWW·V�Finest Hour. There is literally no URRP�IRU�RWKHUV�LQ�WKLV�VHULHV�H[FHSW�ZKHQ�6FRWW�LV�ÀJKWLQJ�DJDLQVW�them (whether “they” are the world or the entire universe). These titles, however, are undermined by the content they contain: in each additional volume, Scott’s worth as a protagonist is more profoundly questioned until it becomes clear that his story is just one of many, and perhaps not the most compelling (though it does make for good action). The juxtaposition of absolute endearment to Scott on the outside with constant questioning and critique on the inside serves as yet another clue that readers of Scott Pilgrim should also question appearances and traditions as they consume the series.

The treatment of participation in Scott Pilgrim further opens the door for questions and critiques of propriety and tradition. Though Scott Pilgrim makes all of the traditional moves to encourage participation, it breaks many of its own rules for guiding or controlling that participation by allowing the reader to regain agency. If gameplay is a willing surrender of agency—at least in that one must follow WKH�UXOHV�WR�ÀQLVK�WKH�JDPH³WKHQ�Scott Pilgrim�LV�D�JDPH�ZKRVH�ÀUVW�rule is to argue about the rules. Similar games exist: Steve Jackson’s Munchkin is a card game that parodies many of the conventions of tabletop roleplaying games, and many of its rules and regulations are ambiguous or purposefully misleading. For example, to begin WKH�JDPH��SOD\HUV�´GHFLGH�ZKR�JRHV�ÀUVW�E\� UROOLQJ� WKH�GLFH�DQG�arguing about the results and the meaning of this sentence and ZKHWKHU�WKH�IDFW� WKDW�D�ZRUG�VHHPV�WR�EH�PLVVLQJ�DQ\�HͿHFWµ��Further, other disputes “should be settled by loud arguments, with the owner of the game having the last word,” or looked up online, ´XQOHVV�LW·V�PRUH�IXQ�WR�DUJXHµ��3DUW�RI�D�JDPH·V�HͿHFWLYHQHVV�DW�enforcing rules is that these rules are unambiguous and outside of the play experience—that they cannot be questioned. When they can be questioned, the validity of the rules, or at the very least the formality of the game, becomes a topic of questioning. Indeed, in Munchkin, being too serious almost always results in losing the game. In Scott Pilgrim, similar proceedings occur, and readers who give too much agency away are rewarded with a boring experience. A key example of this phenomenon in Scott Pilgrim is when the book

10


RͿHUV� JXLGHV� RQ� KRZ� WR� UHDG� FRPLFV�� HYHQWXDOO\� EUHDNLQJ� GRZQ�into “read it freestyle,” a rule that lies directly at odds with both convention (language is read directionally) and Wallace’s demands to the contrary (“this is the back of the book! Go to the front!”).

%\�RͿHULQJ�UHDGHUV�WKHVH�WZR�LPSRUWDQW�FOXHV�DQG�PHDQV�WR�H[DPLQH�and dismantle the story of Scott Pilgrim, the series enables a very subtle kind of world-building in the negative sense: readers may take it apart and question its pieces. Rather than functioning as a kind of gestalt consciousness that is beyond the realm of critique, Scott Pilgrim opens itself for deconstruction and allows readers to see its moving parts. It does this by harnessing the already-participatory elements that it uses to make up its pastiche. Readers come to the books already from a transmedial position: they bring to the narrative the bits (and bytes) of other media knowledge and apply them freely and openly to a narrative that is built to harness these parts and grow because of them. In essence, Scott Pilgrim hinges upon the reader’s transmedial skill to be unlocked. Built into its framework is a network of possible layers waiting to be accessed. Similar to how Super Mario World features colored outlines of blocks and platforms that correspond to colored switches the player can hit, Scott Pilgrim suggests alternate pathways and readings with clues: movie references, gaming homages, television tropes, musical numbers. A reader not possessing these keys can still get through the series and enjoy the experience, but the presence of these alternate paths “just out of reach” creates an impetus to come back and try again with the keys in hand, to search for the switches that will open these pathways.

0DQ\�RI�WKHVH�WKHPHV�DUH�H[SORUHG�PRUH�H[SOLFLWO\�LQ�WKH�ÀOP�DQG�YLGHR�JDPH��ZKLFK�RͿHU�VWURQJHU�LQFHQWLYHV�WR�JR�EDFN�WKURXJK�HDFK�part of the franchise with a closer eye for detail. The repetition of WKH�SRSXODU�JDPLQJ�WURSH�´&RQWLQXH"µ�LQ�WKH�ÀOP�KDUPRQL]HV�ZLWK�its brief appearance in the book series and is built upon even more strongly by the game, which features it as a part of the medium. Similarly, the focus on doors (an inherently unstable, liminal space) DQG�NQRZOHGJH�RI�VHFUHW�SDWKZD\V�WKURXJK�WKHP�ÀQGV�UHVRQDQFH�LQ�WKH�ÀOP��ZKLFK�IRFXVHV�WKHPDWLFDOO\�RQ�GRRUV�DQG�ZKDW�PLJKW�OLH�behind them. Ramona, the American Delivery Ninja, is the greatest representative of the common theme of liminality and instability with a focus on movement ever forward. This theme, treated SRZHUIXOO\�LQ�WKH�ERRNV�DQG�ÀOP��LV�EXLOW�XS�FRQFUHWHO\�LQ�WKH�JDPHV��moving toward many doors in the game opens them, revealing a secret path through Subspace or a shop where powerups can be attained. More importantly, the game is a side-scrolling beat-‘em-up, in which players may only advance forward in a level—there is no looking back. The urge that Scott has to live constantly in his

11


past is denied, and the player, taking the role of Scott, is swept up in the same inexorable movement he experiences in his tumultuous relationship with Ramona. Finally, the participatory and peer-to-peer community-building facet of the series is teased out through the franchise’s systematic release. The book encourages readers WR�ÀQG�IULHQGV�WR�UHDG�DORQJ�WR�KHOS�XQORFN�SDUWV�RI�WKH�QDUUDWLYH�WKH\�PD\�QRW�KDYH� WKH�SULRU�NQRZOHGJH� WR�DFFHVV��7KH�ÀOP�GRHV�the same on another level by adding both audio and live actors, whose relationships to one another and their previous acting engagements provide fodder for the viewer’s musically inclined RU� PRYLH� EXͿ� IULHQGV�� :KDW� WKHVH� ÀOPV� VXJJHVW³WKDW� WKHUH� LV�strength in numbers, so to speak—the game makes explicit: playing Scott Pilgrim vs. the World: The Game solo is harder than playing it cooperatively with friends, as the number of enemies on-screen DQG�WKHLU�UHODWLYH�VWUHQJWK�LQFUHDVHV�ZLWK�GLFXOW\�DQG�SURJUHVVLRQ�but not with the number of players. As these examples show, WKRXJK�HDFK�PHGLD�RͿHULQJ�PD\�QRW� DGG�DGGLWLRQDO� LQIRUPDWLRQ�to the Scott Pilgrim ur-text (that Scott must defeat Ramona’s Seven Evil Exes), it does add integral openings and intersections where UHDGHUV�YLHZHUV�SOD\HUV�FDQ�DSSO\�WKHLU�RZQ�ÁDLU�RU�NQRZOHGJH�WR�the story, increasing their comprehension of the franchise as a whole in ways that other media did not allow. In this way, the Scott Pilgrim franchise enacts “additive comprehension” while functioning as a cultural attractor for fan communities.

While it may not appear initially to be a fully-formed example of transmedia storytelling, the Scott Pilgrim franchise does take part LQ� ´D� SURFHVV� ZKHUH� LQWHJUDO� HOHPHQWV� RI� D� ÀFWLRQ� JHW� GLVSHUVHG�systematically across multiple delivery channels for the purpose of FUHDWLQJ�D�XQLÀHG�DQG�FRRUGLQDWHG�HQWHUWDLQPHQW�H[SHULHQFH�µ�7KDW�Scott Pilgrim does this both through internal measures built into the graphic narratives and through external marketing measures like WKH�ÀOP��JDPH�� DQG�RWKHU�SURGXFWV� �OLNH�SRVWHUV�RU� WKH�DQLPDWHG�short Scott Pilgrim vs. The Animation, an animated adaptation of the Benvie Tech incident from volume two that appeared on Cartoon Network’s Adult Swim��VKRZV�D�NHHQ�DZDUHQHVV�RI�WKH�LQÁXHQFHV�RI�PXOWLPHGLD�SODWIRUPV�RQ�FXOWXUDO�SURGXFWLRQ�LQ�WKH�WZHQW\�ÀUVW�century. More importantly, that Scott Pilgrim harnesses transmedial storytelling in such a totalizing manner demonstrates a deeper understanding of the cultural and generational roots of transmedia art franchises. As much as Millennial consciousness is built on ambiguity and subtlety in language and on the premise of the world as a series of participatory opportunities, so too is Millenniality built on its members’ “native” relationships to multiple hyperlinked media forms and their all-encompassing consumption of these forms. To this end, Scott Pilgrim looks at transmedia storytelling as a native method instead of a new development. That position allows

12


for innovation in the form as well as intriguing and previously unseen methods of access or kinds of implementation, such as the formal structuring of a work to be always-already transmedial. In its purest sense—harnessing multiple media platforms to cohesively and uniquely tell a story—the Scott Pilgrim franchise is absolutely transmedial. It is, however, a permutation of transmedia storytelling that incorporates transmedia models intuitively into its structure in ways that have yet to be examined fully. To better understand both Millennial culture, which embraces and innovates on these forms, and to understand the growing complexity of artistic production by Millennials who have grown up with transmedia storytelling practices, we must continue to examine and alter our perceptions of what makes transmedia storytelling both compelling and unique—especially when it has been crafted so expertly to “live inside” of transmediality, as Scott Pilgrim has. Here, as ever before, Scott Pilgrim shows that it is a work from a culture of incredulity and GRXEW��JURZWK�GHPDQGV�WKH�LQWHUURJDWLRQ�RI�WKH�GHÀQLWLYH��DQG�Scott Pilgrim enacts this interrogation powerfully in style (language), form (participation), and dispersal (transmediality).

13

Works Cited

Jenkins, Henry. “Transmedia Storytelling: Moving characters IURP�ERRNV�WR�ÀOPV�WR�YLGHR�JDPHV�FDQ�PDNH�WKHP�VWURQJHU�and more compelling.” Technology Review. Maine Institute of Technology, 15 Jan. 2003. Web. 24 Sept. 2012.

—. “Transmedia Storytelling 101.” Confessions of an Aca-Fan: The 2FLDO�%ORJ�RI�+HQU\�-HQNLQV. 22 Mar. 2007. Web. 24 Sept. 2012.

Kinder, Marsha. Playing with Power in Movies, Television, and Video Games: From Muppet Babies to Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. Berkeley and Los Angeles, California: University of California Press, 1991. Print.

O’Malley, Bryan Lee. Scott Pilgrim’s Precious Little Life. Toronto: Oni Press, 2005.

—. Scott Pilgrim Versus the World. Toronto: Oni Press, 2006.

—. 6FRWW�3LOJULP��WKH�,QÀQLWH�6DGQHVV. Toronto: Oni Press, 2007.

—. Scott Pilgrim Gets it Together. Toronto: Oni Press, 2008.

—. Scott Pilgrim Versus the Universe. Toronto: Oni Press, 2009.

—. Scott Pilgrim’s Finest Hour. Toronto: Oni Press, 2010.

Scolari, Carlos Alberto. “Transmedia Storytelling: Implicit Consumers, Narrative Worlds, and Branding in Contemporary Media Production.”�,QWHUQDWLRQDO�-RXUQDO�RI�&RPPXQLFDWLRQ 3 (2009): 586-606. Print.

Scott Pilgrim vs. the World: The Game. Ubisoft, 2010. PlayStation Network.

Scott Pilgrim vs. the World. Dir. Edgar Wright. Universal Pictures, 2010. Film.

Steve Jackson Games. “Rules Manual.” Munchkin. 2010.

“Ubisoft to Develop Scott Pilgrim Videogame.” IGN 28 July 2009. Web. 24 Sept. 2012.

Winning, Josh. ““Q&A: Scott Pilgrim creator Bryan Lee O’Malley”. Total Film. 2 June 2010. Web. 24 Sept. 2012.



7MKRM½GERX�-RXIVZEPW�&IX[IIR�4VMRX�ERH�:MHIS�4SIXV]

Rachael Sullivan

In a recent work, American poet Kate Greenstreet’s combination of printed text and digital videos calls into question the identity of poetry and, more broadly, the tradition of literature and memory-making practices. The Last 4 Things (2009) reveals how technologies RI�PHPRU\��IURP�ZULWLQJ�WR�SKRWRJUDSK\�WR�ÀOP��FKDQJH�WKH�ZD\�we record, retrieve, and remediate memories. Greenstreet uses print and video poems1� WR� UHÁHFW� RQ� GLͿHUHQW� WHFKQRORJLHV� RI�memory in order to elucidate a common element between literary IRUPV��VXFK�DV�SRHWU\��DQG�QRQOLWHUDU\�IRUPV��VXFK�DV�ÀOP��SHUVRQDO�diaries, letters, and miscellaneous author’s notes): regardless of the technology used to record events, the record will necessarily be IUDJPHQWHG�DQG�LQFRPSOHWH��DQG�LW�LV�DFWXDOO\�LQ�WKHVH�ÁDZV�WKDW�ZH�can derive meaning.

The Last 4 Things invites readers into the intervals, the “in-between WLPHV�>«@�RI�XQGHWHUPLQHG�GXUDWLRQ�DQG�XQVSHFLÀHG�VLJQLÀFDQFH�µ�as literary critic and media theorist Katherine Hayles puts it in “The 7LPH�RI�'LJLWDO�3RHWU\µ��<HW��WKH�VLJQLÀFDQFH�RI�WKH�LQWHUYDOV�GRHV�QRW�H[DFWO\�UHPDLQ�´XQVSHFLÀHGµ�LQ�The Last 4 Things. It is at the moment of the “cut point” (see Figure 7) between print and video, video and print, that the real work of memory happens. Between versions of Greenstreet’s text, reading becomes a process of remembering, as we constantly must recall one version when we are engaging in the other. Thus, readers are always between versions even when immersed in a single version.

Just as the memory of the narrator cannot be recorded clearly, the poetry cannot be located clearly in one medium or the other. Between PHGLDWLRQV� LV� D� VLJQLÀFDQW� LQWHUYDO� RU� WUDQVLWLRQ�� DQG� ´7KH�PRVW�vulnerable moment is the moment of the change” (Greenstreet 55). The interval is charged with tension, since it is part of a “reading” process that is neither reading nor viewing. It marks the point at which we begin to realize that both versions of the text constitute the text’s identity. Poetry, as The Last 4 Things helps us realize, is in the interval of remediation’s oscillation between textual technologies

The author is a graduate student at the University of Wisconsin-Milwaukee.


DQG�LQ�WKH�ZRUN�ZH�GR�DV�LQGLYLGXDOV�WR�ÀQG�PHDQLQJ�LQ�WKH�WH[W³which is to say “poetry” is a conceptual framework. Greenstreet takes a radical step in exposing a vulnerable ideological cut point between what is and is not literature. Such exposure is all the more critical as today’s electronic literature strives for validation as a literary genre while simultaneously disrupting and even challenging the category of literature itself.

The Last 4 Things is an ambitious project in poetry and media SURGXFWLRQ��$V�WKH�ÀUVW�ERRN�RI�SRHWU\�WR�EH�VROG�ZLWK�RULJLQDO�ÀOPV�on a DVD,2 The Last 4 Things resists a singular medium, but it also resists a clear understanding of what counts as a poem. Greenstreet FKDOOHQJHV� UHDGHUV�ZLWK� XQLGHQWLÀHG� DQG� OD\HUHG� YRLFHV�� XQFOHDU�poem boundaries (where does a “poem unit” begin and end?), as well as jarring and sometimes frustrating line breaks. However, the biggest challenge for literary scholars, especially those coming out RI�D�SULQW�EDVHG�GHÀQLWLRQ�RI�´OLWHUDWXUH�µ�PLJKW�EH�WKH�K\EULG�IRUP�ZH�ÀQG� LQ�The Last 4 Things, both a book and video series. Such hybridity seems to be the necessary condition of a text that is in so many ways caught between times, between genres, and between forms. In her poetry, primarily through the motif of photography, Greenstreet develops an account of the complex act or process of remembering and remediating some past event. This thread gradually emerges from careful reading/watching, though even it falls apart as the text tempers representation with abstraction. In the print version, the unsystematic placement of blank pages and the long sequences of verse with no titles; in the video version, the decoupling of written text and spoken words and the drastic rearrangement of the printed order of poems—these are among the devices that challenge the traditional boundaries of the poem and begin to represent the disconnects between reality, occurrence, and memory. The print text at times resembles a list of miscellaneous IUDJPHQWV� RU� PHPRULHV� SXOOHG� IURP� D� QRWHERRN�� WKH� ÀOPV�occasionally lapse into a painterly style (Figure 1) or intentional distortion (Figure 2). The impossibility of representing memory without distortion, in fact, is one retrospective impression the text leaves on the reader.

The Last 4 Things can be read as a record of fragments from the past. These fragments refuse a stable narrative or determinate meaning, and thus the text self-consciously questions the nature of human memory as it becomes increasingly mediated by the layering of old and new recording technologies, an increasingly common phenomenon in our culture.3 While Greenstreet’s print poetry explores the process of recording memory in writing and photography, the videos4 introduce a third technology of memory—the moving image—which perhaps responds to (without answering)


D�TXHVWLRQ�ZH�ÀQG� LQ� WKH�ERRN��´:KDW�ZRXOG� LOOXVWUDWLRQV�RI� WKH�inner life tell?” (29).

Both the DVD and the print book contain two long poems or sections entitled “The Last 4 Things” and “56 Days.”5 “The Last 4 7KLQJVµ�ÀOP�LV�DFWXDOO\�DQ�HFOHFWLF�VHULHV�RI��VKRUW��RQH�WR�WKUHH�minute) “video experiments,” as Greenstreet calls them, each created after the written poem was completed. For “56 Days,” KRZHYHU��WKH�SRHW�FUHDWHG�D��PLQXWH�ÀOP��VKRRWLQJ�YLGHR�DQG�VWLOO�shots while writing the poem.6 “56 Days” is in a diary format, with one poem for almost all 56 days between December 3 and January 27. Greenstreet writes that “56 Days” is “what a diary might be like if one weren’t attempting to explain a day’s meaning or describe events. Just noting—something seen, heard, remembered” (“Author’s Statement”). In this same statement, Greenstreet goes on to say, “That led to the kind of familiar idea of shooting one view every day, imagining she [the central speaker in the poem] did that. I thought I’d do it for 56 days. It almost worked” (“Author’s Statement”).

Figure 1: “The Last 4 Things” (2009). Screenshot of video for page 33.

Figure 2: “The Last 4 Things” (2009). Screenshot of video for page 39.


In the “56 Days” video, shots of the same rooftop through the same window repeat with insistent loneliness as the weather changes and wild birds—never people—come and go (Figure 3). Sometimes the camera ventures outside, but the repetition of the neighboring rooftop weaves a sense of time through the poem’s words, which DUH� OLNHZLVH�ZRYHQ� WKURXJKRXW� WKH� ÀOP�� ,Q� WKH� YLGHR� YHUVLRQ� RI�“56 Days,” the viewer seems to stand in the room represented in WKH� ÀOP�� VKDULQJ� WKH� VSDFH� RI� WKH� VSHDNHU� DV� DXWKRU�� ÀOPPDNHU��observer. As Greenstreet puts it in an interview, “In ‘56 Days,’ you see a consciousness looking out. It’s looking out and you’re looking out too, seeing what it sees.” Readers see the recording process in the making, and likewise the written poems unfold as part of that experience.7 The “56 Days” video, then, cannot be described as a mere supplement to the printed text; the video is a part of the composing process and permeates both versions.

Figure 3: “56 Days” (2009). Screenshot of video from 25 January, looking out the window.

Even though the composition of “The Last 4 Things” is not as LQWLPDWHO\�WLHG�WR�WKH�ÀOPPDNLQJ�SURFHVV�DV� ��'D\Vµ�LV��WKLV�SRHP�is acutely aware of lens technology (photography) and also self-UHÁHFWLYHO\�WUHDWV�ZULWLQJ�DV�D�WHFKQRORJ\��:KDW�JUDGXDOO\�HPHUJHV�in “The Last 4 Things” printed text is an interrogation of, resistance to, or anxiety about the process of making written and visual records, a process that always seems to yield ambiguity more than conclusive documentation. Similar to H.D.’s “Projector” poems DQG�0DULDQQH� 0RRUH·V� ÀOPLF� PRGH� RI� FRPSRVLWLRQ�� *UHHQVWUHHW�does not represent a completed record or crystallized recollection, but rather it is the making of records and memories amidst so many imperfections and distortions that builds the tension between time


DV�OLYHG�H[SHULHQFH�DQG�WLPH�DV�D�PHGLDWLRQ�LQ�GLͿHUHQW�WHFKQRORJLHV�RI�PHPRU\³ZULWLQJ��SKRWRJUDSK\��ÀOP��0HPRU\�LV�´$�FRQGLWLRQ�formed/by countless mysterious malfunctions” (Greenstreet 14). The print poems together with the video poems vividly show the reader that these malfunctions are not meaningless symptoms. In fact, malfunction and indeterminacy, particularly in relation to mnemonics, constitute the most fundamental unit of meaning in the text. From within the gaps or intervals between remembering and forgetting, presence and absence, clarity and obfuscation, seeing DQG�UHDGLQJ��SULQW�DQG�YLGHR��ZH�DFWXDOO\�ÀQG�D�ZD\�WR�UHDG�WKLV�multi-version text without privileging one mediation over another. Because the print and video versions of The Last 4 Things are distributed as one work under the banner of poetry, each mediation is given equal footing, subverting any reading that hopes to situate print as a reference point while toggling between versions.

0DUMRULH�3HUORͿ�KDV�XVHG�WKH�WHUP�´GLͿHUHQWLDO�WH[WVµ�WR�UHIHUHQFH�´WH[WV�WKDW�H[LVW�LQ�GLͿHUHQW�PDWHULDO�IRUPV��ZLWK�QR�VLQJOH�YHUVLRQ�EHLQJ�WKH�GHÀQLWLYH�RQHµ��%RWK�SRHPV�LQ�The Last 4 Things are GLͿHUHQWLDO�WH[WV��VLQFH�WKHUH�LV�D�SULQW�YHUVLRQ�DQG��IRU�PRVW�RI�WKH�WH[W��D�YLGHR�SRHP��3HUORͿ�KHOSV�WR�UHPLQG�XV�WKDW��DOWKRXJK�´HDFK�reader may well prefer one mode of production over the others” (146), each version has no inherent value over another. But what LV�LW�OLNH�WR�DFWXDOO\�UHDG�D�GLͿHUHQWLDO�WH[W�DV�RQH�WH[W��KRZ�GR�ZH�alternate between versions of reading, and what happens between each version? In a text that is neither here nor there, so to speak, the intervals between the here and the there are laden with meaning and seriously challenge traditional reading practices. These intervals, particularly those between print and electronic versions of a text, merit incisive analysis from Hayles.

In “The Time of Digital Poetry” (2006), Hayles analyzes the “in-EHWZHHQ�VSDFHµ�RI�GLͿHUHQWLDO�WH[WV�WKDW�KDYH�D�SULQW�YHUVLRQ�DQG�DQ�electronic version. One of her examples is Stephanie Strickland’s V, ZKLFK�KDV�GLͿHUHQW�IRUPV�RQOLQH�DQG�LQ�D�SULQW�ERRN��+D\OHV�FODLPV�that “when read alongside each other, the print and electronic texts RͿHU� D� UHPDUNDEO\� ULFK� PDWUL[� LQ� ZKLFK� WR� H[SORUH� WKH� YDU\LQJ�dynamics of freedom and constraint produced/performed by GXUDEOH�PDUNV�DQG�ÁLFNHULQJ� VLJQLÀHUVµ� ��8 Hayles then goes on to analyze what it is like to be a reader of V, in the matrix or WKH� ´WHUULWRU\µ� VLJQLÀHG� E\� WKH slash between “seeing/reading, presence/absence, stability/decay, image/word, part/whole, time stopped/time passing […] the space between the print book and digital Web site” (204, original italics). This emphasis on the in-between space, as well as the “in-between time” (205), of GLͿHUHQWLDO�WH[WV�SURYLGHV�DQ�LQFUHGLEO\�XVHIXO�WKHRUHWLFDO�DSSURDFK�to Greenstreet’s The Last 4 Things. Like Strickland’s V, The Last 4


Things has a distributed existence across materialities with key variances surfacing in the midst. While Hayles concludes that the suspended time/space in V “[reminds] us that gaps, ruptures, and ÀVVXUHV� RI� XQGHWHUPLQHG� GXUDWLRQ� DQG� XQVSHFLÀHG� VLJQLÀFDQFH�puncture our reading experiences” (205), such ambiguous intervals bear even more weight in a text concerned with problematizing memory as a sort of technology that, in the end, fails to deliver a whole or coherent past.

If the tools we rely on to record history and memory have “gaps, UXSWXUHV��DQG�ÀVVXUHV�µ�ZKDW�VRUW�RI�´UHFRUGµ�GR�ZH�KDYH"�:KLOH�LW�may seem problematic or restrictive to think of poetry in this way, DV� D� UHFRUG� ÁDZHG� E\� YDULDQFHV� EHWZHHQ�PHGLDWLRQV��The Last 4 Things seems to suggest a sense of contact with the past that cannot be labeled as a conclusive testimony nor an artistic expression. As Greenstreet writes in her author’s statement, “Photography can be an art, also a form of record-keeping.” By extension, The Last 4 Things dwells in a gray space between poetry and record-keeping. In WKH�ÀQDO�DQDO\VLV��ZH�FRQIURQW�DQ�DOZD\V�SDUWLDO�DQG�GLVFRQWLQXRXV�DUFKLYH�GLVSHUVHG�DFURVV�GLͿHUHQW�WHFKQRORJLHV�RI�PHPRU\�

In the following three sections, each predicated on a key passage/screenshot from Greenstreet’s text, I want to explore more fully the implications of memory as a multimodal record, and through this H[SORUDWLRQ�� RXWOLQH� PRUH� FRQFUHWHO\� WKH� WROO� WKDW� GLͿHUHQWLDWLRQ�takes on the identity of poetry and literature as stable categories in contemporary literature. From within the interval, that in-between time/space that is neither print nor video, we may discover a new awareness of the identity of the poem, and, as Hayles puts it, “extend the interrogations of the literary into the digital domain” (Electronic Literature 5).

1. “Stand there. / I’ll take your photograph” (56).

Both sections in The Last 4 Things end with someone taking a SLFWXUH�� 7KLV� ÀQDO� GHIHUUDO� WR� SKRWRJUDSK\�� KRZHYHU�� GRHV� QRW�mean that visual records are any less ambiguous or open-ended than writing. Photography has the last word, but ultimately the event of the photograph (at least in the print version) is literally and only recorded in the words of Greenstreet’s poems. The photo is not an object or an image but an ongoing process of remembering. The video version varies from the print version in this way, since one of the videos shows old photographs, pinned like biological VSHFLPHQV� RQ� D� ERDUG� �)LJXUH� �� ,Q� D� VLJQLÀFDQW� FRQWUDVW� WR� WKLV�shot, the print version of The Last 4 Things trades the poem-as-object for the poem-as-process, and likewise represents photography not


LQ�WKH�IRUP�RI�UHLÀHG�DUWLIDFWV�EXW�UDWKHU�DV�D�SURFHVV�RI�PHPRU\�making.

1HZ�WHFKQRORJLHV�KDYH�D� ORQJ�KLVWRU\�RI� LQÁXHQFLQJ�ZULWHUV�DQG�artists who become captivated by the functions and operations of machines. In Cinematic Modernism (2005), Susan McCabe deals GLUHFWO\�ZLWK�KRZ�WKH�ULVH�RI�ÀOP�DV�WKH�GRPLQDQW�PHWDSKRU�DQG�PHGLXP� IRU� FXOWXUDO� H[SHULHQFH� DͿHFWHG� SRHWLF� SUDFWLFH� LQ� WKH�early twentieth century. In her analysis, which illuminates the ´FURVVKDWFKLQJµ� �� EHWZHHQ� DYDQW�JDUGH� ÀOP� DQG� PRGHUQLVW�poetry, McCabe focuses primarily on how poets experienced early cinema and then absorbed that experience, transforming it into SRHWLF�WHFKQLTXHV��´7KH�PHGLXP�RI�ÀOP�µ�VKH�ZULWHV��´RSHQHG�XS�a new vocabulary for modernist poets” (3–4). Film as a machine for representing time and movement crystallized the modernist fascination with the past and with mechanical reproduction.

In one dimension of her study, McCabe explores how the materiality RI�ÀOP�DQG� WKH�SURFHVV�RI�ÀOPPDNLQJ�DFWXDOO\�SOD\HG�D�NH\� UROH�in the emergence of innovative poetic practice. In other words, it was not only the completed movie that engaged poets, but also to VRPH�H[WHQW�WKH�´ÁDPPDEOH�PDWHULDOLW\��OLWHUDOO\�FHOOXORVH�QLWUDWH�µ��RI�ÀOP�DQG�WKH�process of creating and projecting moving image sequences that paralleled the composing processes of poets. In her “Projector” poems, for instance, H.D. adopts the cinematic medium as a “material metaphor” (to use a term popularized by Hayles) for

Figure 4: “56 Days” (2009). Screenshot of video for page 23.


SRHWU\��LGHQWLI\LQJ�KHUVHOI�DV�D�ÀOP�SURMHFWRU�DQG� LPDJLQLQJ�KHUVHOI�behind the streaming light” (50). William Carlos Williams links Moore’s composing strategy “to photographic development and SURMHFWLRQ�RI�ÀOP�DV�DFWV�RI�GLVORFDWLRQ�DQG�HPERGLPHQWµ��0F&DEH�197). McCabe cites Williams here to show how Moore foregrounds WKH� PDWHULDOLW\� RI� ZRUGV� RQ� WKH� SDJH� OLNH� ÀOP� VWULSV� ´ZDVKHG��dried and placed right side up on a clean surface” (Williams qtd. in McCabe 197).

In some sense, then, the physical properties of media reveal a new aesthetic and, in turn, shed light on the printed page as a material artifact or technology with its own conventions and VHPLRWLF�HOHPHQWV��7KLV�PHGLD�VSHFLÀF�DQDO\VLV�KLJKOLJKWV�WKH�ULFK�LQWHUSOD\�EHWZHHQ�SDJH�EDVHG�SRHWLFV�DQG�ÀOP�DV�PRGHUQLVW�SRHWV�DGDSWHG�QRW�MXVW�WKH�FLQHPDWLF�HͿHFWV�RI�FRPSOHWHG�ÀOPV��EXW�PRUH�radically the very inscription processes that record and perform cinematic representations for viewers. As Michael O’Pray observes, “Modernism was not simply the organisation of certain images, but a laying bare of the image-making process itself, incorporating LW� RU� OHDYLQJ� LWV� WUDFH� LQ� WKH� UHVXOWDQW� ÀOPµ� �� /LNHZLVH�� SRHWV�LQÁXHQFHG� E\� ÀOP� VKDUHG� WKLV� SURFHVV�RULHQWHG� DHVWKHWLF�� D� NH\�cultural undercurrent.

-XVW�DV�WKH�HPHUJHQW�SUDFWLFH�RI�ÀOPPDNLQJ�DQG�WKH�JHQHUDO�FLQHPDWLF�experience gave some modernist poets a rich understanding of how GLͿHUHQW�PHGLD�PDNH�WUDQVDFWLRQV�LQ�PHDQLQJ��FRQWHPSRUDU\�SRHWV�like Kate Greenstreet continue to make readers aware of literary texts as material artifacts invested with meaning in language as much as the inscription technology used to present the language. Critic and new media poet Loss Pequeño Glazier argues that “This concern with the material has been a constant element in modern and contemporary innovative literature and is highly relevant to e-poetry” (23). In Digital Poetics: The Making of ePoetries (2002), Glazier maintains that digital poetry (or “e-poetry”) asks readers “to see through a new lens, one with expanded focal points” (5). His work explores “the idea of the digital poem as the process of thinking through [the electronic medium], thinking through making” (6, author’s italics). Glazier’s comment, including his “lens” analogy, underscores the power of material metaphors for both readers and poets. The Last 4 Things provides an opportunity to engage the set of concerns I have articulated under the rubric of modernist experiments—the same set of concerns which Glazier and other critics have aligned with today’s new media poetries.

In The Last 4 Things, a material metaphor is most explicit in the 23 December entry from “56 Days.” In this entry, the speaker recalls a memory of developing photos in the tiny bathroom-turned-GDUNURRP� RI� KHU� SDUHQWV·� KRXVH�� ´0\� IDWKHU� JDYH� PH� P\� ÀUVW�


camera. That’s how I started taking pictures” (71). In the speaker’s memory, what appears to stand out is not the images themselves but the process by which the images become married to their material: “I was enthralled with my black room, and the equipment and the chemicals. […] Shaking the tray in the safe red dark, I was happy—watching the image come up—gray shapes collecting into streets or faces” (71). This narrative—atypically complete compared to the other poems in the collection—is not a type of writing interested in visually arresting images or presenting memories that are “like” photographs. On the whole, the mode of writing is not intended to foreground visually arresting images, but instead the process of arresting the visual image comes to center stage. The speaker’s vivid memory of the tentative, developing image in the 23 December entry is akin to the experience we have of reading the print version of The Last 4 Things. The process of taking pictures is a material metaphor representing, among other things, the way that memories, observations, and scenes actually get recorded in the mind.

Though it would not be accurate to say that we can make sense of the poetry with this metaphor of taking and developing pictures, we can use it to learn something about the speaker’s consciousness, which is not unlike the gray image that comes up in the dark room chemicals of her past. It is a tentative knowing; there are shadows of narrative, but never any explanation. “Narrative,” writes visual culture theorist W.J.T. Mitchell, is “a mode of knowing and showing which constructs a region of the unknown, a shadow text or image that accompanies our reading, moves in time with it […] both prior to and adjacent to memory” (190). Throughout The Last 4 Things, narrative moves “like a shadow text or image,” as Mitchell puts it, in and out of the memories that appear, developing in the poem’s dark room. Anyone who has spent any length of time in a dark room NQRZV�WKLV�KDOI�OLW��TXLHW��FORVHG�RͿ�VSDFH� WKDW�*UHHQVWUHHW�ZULWHV�about and writes within. In this “region of the unknown” (Mitchell 190), the image is never completely developed, but it is necessarily arrested in the words on the page. Like the photographic image over time, like the distorted or shaky images in the video poems, memory is vulnerable and ephemeral, but its ghost-narrative carries us, “And it seemed that we were held somehow,” Greenstreet writes (7). The Last 4 Things bears out the theories of O’Pray, Glazier, and Hayles in exploiting its mediated condition to imbricate meaning RYHU�DQG�XQGHU�WKH�DOUHDG\�ULFK�SRHWLFÀOPLF�ODQJXDJH�DQG�LPDJHU\�of the text.

The 23 December entry, from which I have drawn the photographic metaphor, ends unexpectedly: “I’m not sure I can give you these sentences” (71). In this closing gesture, we are shaken out of the immersive memory of the speaker’s past and reminded bluntly


that this memory is only a material inscription—words on a page. The speaker’s hesitance to “give” the words to their reader shows an ambivalence about the recording process and an awareness of a potential future reader, someone who is another, who will come and inherit the speaker’s memory through the very act of reading. But whose memory are we really talking about? Greenstreet’s narrator? A plurality of narrators? Greenstreet herself? When someone in a poem asks, “What would illustrations of the inner life tell?” (29), who or what is doing the telling? In one sense, there is a concern with representing a human “inner life” (consciousness?) or impossibly, a seen thought or a “telling” illustration of the self. However, in another sense, there is a concern with the human VHOI�DV�LW�LV�LQÀOWUDWHG�E\�WHFKQRORJLHV��LQ�ZKLFK�WKH�LQQHU�OLIH�RI�D�remembered past is more posthuman than human.

One striking instance of techno/human confusion (one of many) FRPHV�DW� WKH�EHJLQQLQJ�RI�´7KH�/DVW��7KLQJV�µ�7KH�ÀUVW�SDJH�RI�the poem, which is page 3 of the book, is almost blank save for two OLQHV��´7KH�ÀUVW�OHDYHV�IHOO�WKLV�PRUQLQJ��P\�RZQ�H\HV�µ��:H�might ask, whose eyes? In the next segment of the poem, which begins on page 5, we have some clues that this is not a world of any known reality, and it is not a world in which sight is wholly human. Integrating a passage from Emily Dickinson, “I have had a letter from another World...” (5, author’s italics), the poem signals a reality we may not recognize, and this is a clue about how to read. The next lines are typical of the rest of the book, and they frustrate any linear meaning-making process:

To speak of method. Empathy. Our times, time. Disappears with me. Sleep a minute.

Empathy is marked with incomprehensible corrections. The camera must be open.

I know what I tell myself. Sometimes he seems to be the camera. (lines 6 – 10)

In this passage, “he seems to be the camera,” but a few lines later, “the camera turns the corner. We’re never any closer. / Sometimes he is the camera” (lines 17 – 18). These lines suggest a thoroughly technologized subjectivity in the “he” who seems to be and then is the camera. This is strangely reminiscent of Dziga Vertov’s H[SHULPHQWDO�ÀOP�The Man with the Movie Camera (1929), in which Vertov enacts his Kino-Eye (camera-eye) theory of the movie camera as the ultimate tool for vision, invested with agency as a recording device in the city and far exceeding the human eye’s ability. Once we realize, as Hayles asserts in Writing Machines, that “consciousness alone is no longer the relevant frame but rather consciousness fused with technologies of inscription” (117),9 the


heterogeneity of the speaking voice and the reality represented as half human/half technology must be a consideration for the rest of the book.

“Stand there. / I’ll take your photograph” (56), writes Greenstreet… but stand where? The search for a viable subject position, a place to stand and read the poems so that they “make sense,” is an ongoing struggle in The Last 4 Things. It appears that we have no place to VWDQG� DQG� QR� FHUWDLQ� PHDQLQJV� WR� ÀQG�� +RZHYHU�� LW� LV� SUHFLVHO\�within this uncertain interval—an echo between points in time or OLPLWV�LQ�VSDFH³WKDW�ZH�KDYH�WR�VWDQG�ZKHQ�ZH�DUH�DW�D�FRQÁXHQFH�of analog and digital technologies. The condition of reading The Last 4 Things is much like our condition of being in the world. We are no longer in the past, not yet in the future, but never really in WKH�SUHVHQW�ORQJ�HQRXJK�WR�UHDOL]H�LW��7KH�VLJQLÀFDQW�LQWHUYDOV�LQ�WKH�text are the in-between times of turning pages, the negative space between lines, and the suspense of the moment “the camera turns the corner” (5).

��±8LI�¾EWLFEGOW�[MPP�VIQMRH�YW²��

Figure 5: “56 Days” (2009). Screenshot from the introductory sequence.

While photography is a key material metaphor in the print version of The Last 4 Things, the presence of the moving image is always there, in the material form of a DVD and through occasional allusion to video in the poetry. One key allusion to video is in the 4 January entry in “56 Days”: “I had a few things from our life. I had the old reel-to-reel and I thought possibly, just with things I had, I could make a tape” (78).10 Here the representational object


gives way to an exposure of the backstage moments prior to the representation. The speaker wants to preserve recollections from WKH�SDVW�OLIH�ZLWK�WKLV�YLVXDO�PHGLXP�RI�YLGHR��/LNH�WKH�ÀOP�VWULSV�laid out in the introduction to the “56 Days” video, the speaker’s process of recording memories is laid out on the page (Figure 5).

The video version of The Last 4 Things is heavily remediated, much more so than the print version. Not only are other media (such DV� ERRNV�� SKRWRJUDSKV�� DQG� ÀOP� VWULSV�� IUHTXHQWO\� VKRZQ� LQ� WKH�YLGHRV��EXW�DV�UHDGHUV��ZH�ÀQG�RXU�PHPRU\�RI�SULQW�SRHWU\��ZKHWKHU�it is of Greenstreet’s printed text or any other page-bound book of poems) remediated as well. Remediation, as Jay David Bolter and Richard Grusin formulate one dimension of this concept, is the process by which media evolve and refashion each other. Old media try to represent the values of new media and vice versa, so that remediation entails a recursive cycle of improvement and change. Remediation works through a dual logic that simultaneously wants to make the medium transparent and also bring it to the surface to make viewers or readers aware of “the new medium as medium” (19). The oscillation between these logics of immediacy and hypermediacy, Bolter and Grusin write, “is the key to understanding how a medium refashions its predecessors and other contemporary media” (19). Remediation, when it becomes part of the process of UHFRUGLQJ�PHPRULHV��JLYHV�QHZ�PHDQLQJ�WR�WKH�WHUP� ÁDVKEDFN�µ�,Q�remediated memory, the past has been inscribed on a technological SURVWKHVLV��DQG�ZKDW�ZH�ÁDVK�EDFN�WR�LV�QR�ORQJHU�RXU�RZQ�PHPRU\��but the memory as it is distributed across and at least partially authored by a network of media. Cultural and even personal memory necessitates preservation, but the means of preservation becomes a way of knowing and of constantly constructing and reconstructing “memory.” Remediation as record-keeping is no passive process.

In complex and not totally explicable ways, The Last 4 Things explores what is gained and what is lost when memory is remediated in GLͿHUHQW� DQG� FKDQJLQJ� WHFKQRORJLHV�� )RU� LQVWDQFH�� WKH� ´��'D\Vµ�video includes spoken and written text. The spoken words of the poem, however, do not match the lines that appear at the bottom of the screen. For example, in the entry for 23 January, the line “I’ve seen all a heart could desire” is spoken while the line “You can’t ask this of me” is subtitled. In another interesting pairing for 23 December (discussed previously in this essay), the line “I’m not sure I can give you these sentences” is spoken and subtitled with a line that lists the names of liquid chemicals used to develop photographs (Figure 6). One intent of this juxtaposition could be, as ,�VXJJHVWHG�HDUOLHU��WR�XQGHUVFRUH�WKH�SURFHVV�RI�À[LQJ�PHPRU\�RQWR�materials—pages or photograph paper. The video adds another


OD\HU�RI�VLJQLÀFDQFH��WKRXJK��,W�DFWXDOO\�XQÀ[HV�WKH�SRHP·V�ZRUGV�from their placement on the page. We still have the diary entries that we had in the print version, but when the poetry is remediated in the video, questions surface about the capacity of the written entries to remain attached to their author’s original voice and what the author (in the traditional, literary sense of author as authority) originally intended the words to say.

The meaning found in the interval is a mixed message rather WKDQ�D�XQLÀHG��FRQWLQXRXV�PHVVDJH��*HQHUDOO\�VSHDNLQJ��WKH�SULQW�and video poetry, though joined under the same title of The Last 4 Things�� RSHUDWH�RQ�GLͿHUHQW�ZDYHOHQJWKV��$V� LQ� ´��'D\V�µ� WKH�versions clash, derailing consistent readings. In “56 Days,” the way we read the print text silently to ourselves is disrupted by the poet’s own voice in the video. What makes sense in one version does not persist into the other. “The Last 4 Things” calls for a complex poetic literacy as the reading self is remediated from print to video and vice versa.

Figure 6: “56 Days” (2009). Screenshot of the video from 23 December, page 71.

Greenstreet has commented that she had the idea for the mismatched VXEWLWOHV�DIWHU�YLHZLQJ�D�ÀOP�ZLWK�WKLV�XQLQWHQWLRQDO�GHIHFW�

The spark came from a pirated DVD one of my brothers picked up on the streets of Beijing, a movie starring Julia Roberts, featuring English dialogue accompanied by subtitles also in English that had no obvious relationship to what was being VDLG��,�ORYHG�WKH�HͿHFW��´$XWKRU·V�6WDWHPHQWµ�

An ambient soundtrack of lazy guitar strings and piano keys is woven throughout the “56 Days” video. As an additional layer of FRPSOH[LW\��*UHHQVWUHHW�DGGHG�DXGLR�HͿHFWV�RI�UDGLR�WXQHU�VWDWLF�DQG�distorted clips from foreign language tutorial tapes. The example of the “56 Days” video, in which the poem’s words, movie-like


subtitles, and audio clips are incorporated into the video poem, illustrates remediation. “56 Days” repurposes a few media so that WKH�YLHZHU�LV�FRQVWDQWO\�UHPLQGHG�RI�WKH�ÀOWHULQJ�SURFHVV�WKURXJK�which video combines with audio, text, and still shots. The video feels heavily mediated, yet as the viewer becomes immersed in the lapse of time and changing weather or lighting, the experience begins to feel less mediated and more immediate and realistic.

From a wider angle, this technique of remediating print poetry in and through video loosens assumptions about poetry as an object for analysis, since in the video, poetry is an event with duration, unstable and changing over time—like memory:

Incident, occurrence, happening, chance: the medium of our SURJUHVV��,�VHH�D�ÀHOG�DQG�LW·V�IXOO�RI�JUDLQ��,�ORRN�DFURVV�LW��EH\RQG�WKH�UHDFK�RI�URDGV��,�FDQ�VHH�EHFDXVH�LW·V�ÁDW��7UHHV"�No, there’s no edge. Yellow. It’s a drawing. My sister kept it for me. No, I drew it from memory. I mean—when I drew it, ,�KDG�QHYHU�VHHQ�D�ÀHOG��

What would it mean to draw something from memory without ever having seen the thing? If we have not realized it yet by page 69, memory is not a stable record of what really happened or what was really there. Memory is generative, hewn out of the incidents that constitute our lives, or formed from other representations—images and stories—that we gather second-hand. In the previous passage, WKH�VSHDNHU�FDQ�´VHH�EHFDXVH�LW·V�ÁDW�µ�ZKLFK�DSSHDUV�WR�UHIHUHQFH�WKH� ÀHOG� XQWLO� WKH� ÀHOG� EHFRPHV�� LPSRVVLEO\�� D� GUDZLQJ�ZLWK� QR�edges. “Everything is in the distance” according to the entry for 16 December. There are moments when it seems we are so close to the speaker’s inner life, when perhaps we can meet the request IURP�´7KH�/DVW��7KLQJVµ��´&RPH�WKLV�IDU��/RRN�EULHÁ\��LQWR�WKH�SDVWµ��EXW�RXU�GHSWK�SHUFHSWLRQ�LV�ÁDZHG��7KH�´RWKHUµ�EHKLQG�the words, behind the camera, is still too far away. “Living in a house inside a house, // you receive a transmission of ‘meaning’ energy / you cannot decipher” (24). On the inside of the inside, ZKHUH�ZH�VKRXOG�EH�FORVHVW� WR�ÀQGLQJ�PHDQLQJ� LQ�RXU�EULHI� ORRN�into the past, there is only a scrambled message. We can never cross WKH�ÀHOG� WR� UHDOO\� remember what happened because mediation—sense perception, lies, material records—will always interfere. If we DFFHSW�DQ�HSLVWHPRORJ\�RI�VLJKW��´7KH�H\H�ÀOOV�LQ�ZKDW�LW�NQRZVµ�[67]), The Last 4 Things in both versions will only be drawn from our PHPRU\��DOWKRXJK�ZH�KDYH�QHYHU�VHHQ�D�ÀHOG��


��±8LI�QSWX�ZYPRIVEFPI�QSQIRX�MW�XLI�QSQIRX�SJ�XLI�GLERKI²��

Figure 7: “56 Days” (2009). Screenshot from 15 January, page 83.

“A new media object,” Lev Manovich writes, “is not something À[HG� RQFH� DQG� IRU� DOO�� EXW� VRPHWKLQJ� WKDW� FDQ� H[LVW� LQ� GLͿHUHQW��SRWHQWLDOO\� LQÀQLWH� YHUVLRQVµ� �� ,Q� WKLV� VHQVH�� WKHQ��The Last 4 Things is a new media object without a singular material identity. More radically, the text engages in a suturing of analog and digital to create a hybrid form that contaminates the print version with the digital and likewise the digital with the print. The processes that FRQVWLWXWH�SRHWLF�UHSUHVHQWDWLRQ�FDQ�WKXV�EH�OLQJXLVWLF�RU�ÀOPLF��RU�even a blending of the two, as is the case with Greenstreet’s work and many other forms of contemporary new media poetry. While the print version of The Last 4 Things is not new media, it does acquire a new media aesthetic when paired with a digital video version. Just as the print version of the poetry is an ineradicable mark on the videos, the videos haunt the print. It is a work that cannot be fully experienced or consumed in one medium; the reading process is QRW�À[HG�LQ�D�VLQJOH�PRGH��The Last 4 Things, taken as a new media object, makes us into new media readers.

7KH�WH[W·V�GLͿHUHQWLDO�FRQGLWLRQ�LV�QRW�VLPSO\�D�PDWWHU�RI�SUHIHUHQFH³of giving readers more options or more ways to encounter a poetic work. Rather, as a material metaphor for the status of memory stored and retrieved in various media, The Last 4 Things warrants its dual identity and constitutes itself as a distributed poetic text. Each version is traversed and informed by the other, and, as a consequence, the reader must account for both even as practiced methods of close reading and literary analysis begin to fail. “The moment of the change” (55)—that moment when we are between media and begin to realize that the text asks us to remain there—is indeed vulnerable. The majority of literary texts choose a primary medium of representation, but Greenstreet does not. This fact is


VLJQLÀFDQW�EHFDXVH�LW�UHYHDOV�KLGGHQ�DVVXPSWLRQV�DERXW�WKH�SDJH��Poetic analysis, with roots running deep in print culture, so often bears a bias toward a text’s visual identity on the page. The book form is not simply a vehicle for poetry, but it actively helps us GHWHUPLQH�DQG�UHDG�SRHWLF�XQLWV��'LͿHUHQWLDO� WH[WV� OLNH�The Last 4 Things�GHÀQLWHO\�GLVWXUE�D�SDJH�ERXQG�LGHQWLW\�DQG�EOXU�WKH�FOHDQ�FXW�FRGH[��DQG�WKLV�GLVWXUEDQFH�KDSSHQV�PRVW�VLJQLÀFDQWO\�LQ�WKH�intervals between media.

“A new media object,” Lev Manovich writes, “is not something À[HG� RQFH� DQG� IRU� DOO�� EXW� VRPHWKLQJ� WKDW� FDQ� H[LVW� LQ� GLͿHUHQW��SRWHQWLDOO\� LQÀQLWH� YHUVLRQVµ� �� ,Q� WKLV� VHQVH�� WKHQ��The Last 4 Things is a new media object without a singular material identity. More radically, the text engages in a suturing of analog and digital to create a hybrid form that contaminates the print version with the digital and likewise the digital with the print. The processes that FRQVWLWXWH�SRHWLF�UHSUHVHQWDWLRQ�FDQ�WKXV�EH�OLQJXLVWLF�RU�ÀOPLF��RU�even a blending of the two, as is the case with Greenstreet’s work and many other forms of contemporary new media poetry. While the print version of The Last 4 Things is not new media, it does acquire a new media aesthetic when paired with a digital video version. Just as the print version of the poetry is an ineradicable mark on the videos, the videos haunt the print. It is a work that cannot be fully experienced or consumed in one medium; the reading process LV�QRW�À[HG�LQ�D�VLQJOH�PRGH��´7KH�/DVW��7KLQJV�µ�WDNHQ�DV�D�QHZ�media object, makes us into new media readers.

7KH�WH[W·V�GLͿHUHQWLDO�FRQGLWLRQ�LV�QRW�VLPSO\�D�PDWWHU�RI�SUHIHUHQFH³of giving readers more options or more ways to encounter a poetic work. Rather, as a material metaphor for the status of memory stored and retrieved in various media, The Last 4 Things warrants its dual identity and constitutes itself as a distributed poetic text. Each version is traversed and informed by the other, and, as a consequence, the reader must account for both even as practiced methods of close reading and literary analysis begin to fail. “The moment of the change” (55)—that moment when we are between media and begin to realize that the text asks us to remain there—is indeed vulnerable. The majority of literary texts choose a primary medium of representation, but Greenstreet does not. This fact is VLJQLÀFDQW�EHFDXVH�LW�UHYHDOV�KLGGHQ�DVVXPSWLRQV�DERXW�WKH�SDJH��Poetic analysis, with roots running deep in print culture, so often bears a bias toward a text’s visual identity on the page. The book form is not simply a vehicle for poetry, but it actively helps us GHWHUPLQH�DQG�UHDG�SRHWLF�XQLWV��'LͿHUHQWLDO� WH[WV� OLNH�The Last 4 Things�GHÀQLWHO\�GLVWXUE�D�SDJH�ERXQG�LGHQWLW\�DQG�EOXU�WKH�FOHDQ�FXW�FRGH[��DQG�WKLV�GLVWXUEDQFH�KDSSHQV�PRVW�VLJQLÀFDQWO\�LQ�WKH�intervals between media.


In addition, this blending, hybridizing process is important because it complicates a literary tradition that has excluded visual media, DOLJQLQJ�JUDSKLF�DUW�DQG�ÀOP�ZLWK�WKHLU�UHVSHFWLYH� WUDGLWLRQV�DQG�KLVWRULHV��%\�SUHVHQWLQJ�LWVHOI��QRW�MXVW�DV�D�GLͿHUHQWLDO�WH[W�LQ�ZKLFK�a user can choose between versions, but more radically a distributed text (neither here nor there), we are compelled to recognize that the poetry is as much the visual medium as the print medium. The Last 4 Things�HPERGLHV�WKH�GHÀQLWLRQ�IURP�WKH�(OHFWURQLF�/LWHUDWXUH�Organization, in which Hayles proposes that literature should come to include works that are not primarily textual. This is not a move to increase interdisciplinarity between literature and visual arts, drawing from each but keeping each compartmentalized. Rather, what is implied in Hayles’s proposition is a move to incorporate works that do not privilege human language. The Last 4 Things, in RͿHULQJ�D�FRPSRVLWH�RI� WZR�PHGLD�DQG�H[WHQGLQJ� WKLV�FRPSRVLWH�under the rubric of “poetry”—a traditional literary form—begins to realize Hayles’s conception. As Manovich suggests in The Language of New Media (2001), this realization is in line with a larger cultural shift:

The printed word tradition [...] is becoming less important, while the part played by cinematic elements is becoming progressively stronger. This is consistent with a general trend in modern society toward presenting more and more information in the form of time-based audiovisual moving image sequences, rather than as text. (78)

The word “information,” which Manovich uses in the previous SDVVDJH��PLJKW� VHHP� LOO�ÀWWLQJ� IRU�D�GLVFXVVLRQ�RI�SRHWLFV��3RHWU\�does not necessarily aim to communicate information, but rather to represent oftentimes abstract ideas and expressions. However, The Last 4 Things asks us to consider poetry as a record of miscellaneous notes and bits of information—data—and in this way it allows us to talk about how the print and video versions each convey the VDPH�LQIRUPDWLRQ�LQ�YHU\�GLͿHUHQW�ZD\V��0DQRYLFK�ZRXOG�DUJXH�that our culture requires people to develop new information behaviors; these behaviors then become part of our identity and we use them for accessing websites the same as we would when UHDGLQJ�SRHWU\�RU�YLHZLQJ�ÀOPV��,Q�WKLV�VHQVH��YLGHR�SRHWU\��DV�SDUW�of the category of new media poetry) is not just a minor, avantgarde genre operating on the periphery of the institution of literature. Rather, it is a response to and outcome of a larger societal shift, one that incorporates digital technologies into the fabric of daily life. New technologies necessitate new information behaviors; technologies of memory and the practices of literary consumption are no exception.

Yet, is video poetry in the current moment really something new?


,Q� RQH� VHQVH�� OLWHUDU\� DQG� ÀOPLF� UHSUHVHQWDWLRQ� KDYH� VKDUHG� DQ�DQLW\�VLQFH�WKH�ÀUVW�PRPHQWV�RI�H[SHULPHQWDO�FLQHPD�LQ�(XURSH�and the United States. Video poetry is not an entirely new form—the modernist avant-garde as it developed between the 1920s and WKH� ��V� RͿHUV�PDQ\� QRWDEOH� H[SHULPHQWV�ZLWK�PRYLQJ� LPDJHV�and language. McCabe, for instance, provides many examples RI� SRHW�ÀOPPDNHU� FROODERUDWLRQV�� LQFOXGLQJ� WKH� SRHW� 3KLOLSSH�6RXSDXOW·V�´FLQHPDWRJUDSKLF�SRHPVµ�ÀOPHG�E\�:DOWHU�5XWWPDQQ�(1922) and the well-known Fernand Léger/Ezra Pound collaboration on Ballet Mécanique (1924). Contemporary video poetry clearly GUDZV�IURP�ERWK�WKH�WUDGLWLRQ�RI�H[SHULPHQWDO�ÀOP�DQG�HPHUJLQJ�forms of digital poetry. However, in the pre-digital era, poets rarely—if ever—acquired movie-making equipment and learned WKH�SURFHVV�WR�FUHDWH�WKHLU�RZQ�ÀOPV��*LYHQ�WKH�G\QDPLF�LQWHUSOD\�EHWZHHQ� SRHWU\� DQG� ÀOP��ZK\�ZHUH� WKHUH� QRW�PRUH� DYDQW�JDUGH�SRHWV�FUHDWLQJ�ÀOP�YHUVLRQV�RI�WKHLU�RZQ�ZULWLQJ�DW�WKH�EHJLQQLQJ�RI�WKH�WZHQWLHWK�FHQWXU\"�&RPSDFW�DQG�DͿRUGDEOH�FDPHUDV��VXFK�DV�WKH�.LQDPR�PRYLH�FDPHUD�IRU��PP�ÀOP��LQWURGXFHG�DURXQG��PDGH� KDQGKHOG� ÀOPLQJ� D� SRVVLELOLW\� IRU� KREE\LVWV� DQG� DPDWHXU�ÀOPPDNHUV� �%XFNODQG��(GLWLQJ�ÀOP�LQ� WKH�SUH�GLJLWDO�HUD�ZDV�FHUWDLQO\�GLFXOW�DQG�ODERU�LQWHQVLYH��EXW�WKHUH�ZHUH�HYHQ�VWHHSHU�EDUULHUV� IDFLQJ�QRYLFH�ÀOPPDNHUV��$V�3DWULFLD�=LPPHUPDQ�QRWHV�in Reel Possibilities: A Social History of Amateur Film, distribution RI� LQGHSHQGHQW�ÀOPV�ZDV�H[WUHPHO\� OLPLWHG� LQ� WKH��V�DQG��V�GHVSLWH�WKH�GHYHORSPHQW�RI�DPDWHXU�ÀOP�WHFKQRORJ\�LQ�WKH�8QLWHG�6WDWHV� �� 7KLV� REVWDFOH� FXUWDLOHG� ÀOP� H[SHULPHQWV�� HYHQ� LI� RQH�FRXOG�DͿRUG�WR�SXUFKDVH�D�FDPHUD��=LPPHUPDQ�DOVR�GHVFULEHV�DQ�$PHULFDQ�WUDGLWLRQDOLVW�LGHRORJ\�WKDW�IUDPHG�DPDWHXU�ÀOPPDNLQJ�as a leisure activity and limited forays with hand-held cameras to home movies (113). It is likely that only established or daring DYDQW�JDUGH� SRHWV� ZLWK� FRQQHFWLRQV� WR� WKH� ÀOP� LQGXVWU\� ZRXOG�KDYH�WULHG�ÀOP�H[SHULPHQWV�

7RGD\��WKH�ULFK�LQWHUSOD\�EHWZHHQ�SRHWU\�DQG�ÀOP�KDV�EHHQ�UHYLYHG�thanks to the widespread availability of inexpensive camcorders and video editing software, but most importantly an array of online distribution venues and a greater cultural acceptance of the amateur media producer. The ideological and technological wall between professional and amateur is crumbling. As Wired magazine editor Kevin Kelly notes:

The new cameras/apps are steadily becoming like a word processor—both pros and amateurs use the same one. [...] Filmmaking gear is approaching a convergence between professional and amateur, so that what counts is artistry and inventiveness. (“Extra-Less Films”)

The proliferation of new media technologies and an aesthetic that


embraces these technologies has set the scene for poetry and visual media to collide in ways no one imagined possible during the time of modernist experimentation. During the 1920s and 30s (even ��\HDUV�DJR�� LW�ZRXOG�KDYH�EHHQ�GLFXOW�IRU�DQ�LQGLYLGXDO�SRHW�WR� FUHDWH� SRHWU\� LQ� SULQW� DQG� ÀOP��while also making both media versions widely available and of equal quality. Today, however, poets are beyond overcoming such limits and have started to create meaningful poetry that takes advantage of digital video capabilities. These poets use video sharing websites to give their otherwise LQDFFHVVLEOH�ZRUN�D�SXEOLF�DXGLHQFH�DV�WKH\�UHGHÀQH�ZKDW�LW�PHDQV�to compose poetry in print. It is not just the advances in digital technology that separate poetic innovation from that of the 1920s and 30s. The more important change is the way that poets who are QRW�VHULRXV�ÀOPPDNHUV� �SXW� WKH� WHFKQRORJ\�WR�XVH�DQG� OHYHUDJHG�online networks to distribute and market their work.

Greenstreet, as well as other forward-thinking video poets like Zachary Schomburg and Joshua Marie Wilkinson, all have an active online presence that helps build their readership. While 6FKRPEXUJ� DQG�:LONLQVRQ� KDYH� IRUPDO� WUDLQLQJ� LQ� ÀOP�� WKH\�GR�QRW� XVH� D� ÀOP� FUHZ� RU� WRS�RI�WKH�OLQH� HTXLSPHQW� WR� FUHDWH� WKHLU�videos.11�*UHHQVWUHHW�KDV�QR�IRUPDO�WUDLQLQJ�LQ�ÀOP��DOWKRXJK�VKH�was a visual artist before becoming interested in poetry. She learns video and audio editing programs through experimentation and online video tutorials.12 What is new about the project of today’s video poetry is represented by a shift not only in the types of media that poets use, but in the variety of media available for poets who see value in creating multi-version work. Unlike poets who work only in new media, Greenstreet, Schomburg, and Wilkinson work DW� WKH� FRQÁX[� RI� QHZ�PHGLD� DQG� WUDGLWLRQDO� SULQW� IRUPV�� ,Q� WKLV�sense, they cannot be described as “adding in” video, as though the video were an extra feature or supplement. Electronic writer and GLJLWDO�DUWLVW�7DODQ�0HPPRWW�DVNV��´+RZ�LV�PHDQLQJ�PDGH��GHÀHG��resisted, and sustained in the digital age, in a culture where media technology for the production of work is easily accessible?” (qtd. in Jaszi). Memmott’s question is timely, and I see The Last 4 Things as one possible response.

Notes

1. I consider “video poetry” a sub-category of digital poetry. $OWHUQDWH� WHUPV� IRU� YLGHR� SRHWU\� DUH� ÀOP�SRHP�� SRHP�PRYLH��and cinépoem. Works of video poetry all use video footage as the dominant visual element, and they all combine this footage in some way with words. The linguistic element of video poetry FDQ� EH� ZULWWHQ� WH[W�� VSRNHQ� ZRUGV�� RU� ERWK�� 7KLV� GHÀQLWLRQ�


excludes kinetic typography, graphic or Flash animation, and photographic montage works that use still images as their primary YLVXDO�HOHPHQW��0DQ\�QHZ�PHGLD�SRHWV�XVH�ÀOP�HOHPHQWV�LQ�WKHLU�SLHFHV�� EXW� YLGHR� SRHWV� HPSKDVL]H� WKH� ÀOPLF� DQG� LWV� LQWHUSOD\�with the words of the poem.

2. Other poetry books have included CDs or web versions as digital variations of all or some poems. For example, Stephanie Strickland’s book of poems Zone : Zero (2008) includes a CD with two digital poems correlating to two poems in the book. Strickland’s earlier work, V (2003), which has a print and web YHUVLRQ��LV�´WKH�ÀUVW�FROOHFWLRQ�RI�SRHPV�WR�H[LVW�DV�DQ�LQWHJUDWHG�work in both media” (Hayles, “The Time of Digital Poetry” 182), although its nonprint version is an interactive web text and not a video poetry DVD like The Last 4 Things.

3. Consider the University of Virginia’s, The Valley of the Shadow, a digital archive of records from the American Civil War, including diaries, letters, photographs, newspapers, maps, church records—all mediated by the interface of The Valley of the Shadow’s website, <http://valley.lib.virginia.edu/>.

�� 7KHUH� LV� D� GLVWLQFW� GLͿHUHQFH� EHWZHHQ� ÀOP� DQG� YLGHR� DV� DUW�IRUPV��,Q�FULWLFDO�GLVFRXUVH�DERXW�ÀOP�DQG�YLGHR��WKH�GLVWLQFWLRQV�LQFOXGH�PDWHULDOLW\��ÀOP�YV��WDSH��DQG�GLͿHUHQW�FXOWXUDO�UHDGLQJV��In “Paradox in the Evolution of an Art Form,” Marita Sturken QRWHV�WKDW�ÀOP�HYRNHV�KLVWRU\�ZKHUHDV�YLGHR·V�FRQQHFWLRQ�ZLWK�television codes it as a live transmission—as “continuous and immediate” (120). Greenstreet does not seem to highlight these distinctions in her work; she calls them “videos” in her author’s VWDWHPHQW��EXW�RQ�WKH�'9'�VKH�FDOOV�WKHP�´ÀOPV�µ�,�XVH�WKH�WHUPV�´YLGHRµ�DQG�´ÀOPµ�LQWHUFKDQJHDEO\�

5. Note the possible confusion between the title of the entire work The Last 4 Things� DQG� WKH� SRHP�ÀOP� DOVR� WLWOHG� ´7KH� /DVW� ��Things.” In following convention, I use quotes for poems and LWDOLFV�IRU�WLWOHV�RI�ZKROH�ZRUNV��VR�WKLV�IRUPDWWLQJ�GLͿHUHQFH�ZLOO�indicate when I am talking about the poem or the entire work.

6. See the author’s statement, available on the website of Ahsahta Press. I also discussed details of the dual composing process in a conversation with Greenstreet on November 11, 2009.

7. There is a long tradition of photographers taking pictures of the view out their windows. In fact, Nicéphore Nièpce’s view of his French town through his window, captured with a camera REVFXUD�LQ��LV�KLVWRULFDOO\�UHFRJQL]HG�DV�WKH�ÀUVW�SKRWRJUDSK�ever taken.


��7KH�SKUDVH�´GXUDEOH�PDUNV�DQG�ÁLFNHULQJ� VLJQLÀHUVµ� LQGLFDWHV�WKH�GLͿHUHQW�PDWHULDO�HPERGLPHQWV�RI�SULQW�DQG�GLJLWDO�IRUPDWV��UHVSHFWLYHO\��)OLFNHULQJ�VLJQLÀHU�LV�D�WHUP�RI�VRPH�LPSRUWDQFH�LQ�Hayles’s work. The phrase denotes the unstable system of signs and referents sponsored by digital texts.

9. In one respect, this condition of fusion is applicable to any inscription. However, in the context of a highly mediated reading HQYLURQPHQW� OLNH� WKDW� RI� D� GLͿHUHQWLDO� WH[W�� RQH� LV� FKDOOHQJHG�to overlook the technology used to record and represent the linguistic content.

10. While it is possible that the “reel-to-reel” Greenstreet mentions is an audio recorder, it is more likely that it is a video recorder, since the text expresses obvious attachment to the medium of video. Reel-to-reel video recorders were widely available at the same time that audio recorders were becoming popular. The Sony CV-2000 reel-to-reel home video tape recorder, for instance, was launched in August 1965. Reel-to-reel was also the standard for artists editing video in the 1980s.

11. About his video poem “1977-2050,” Schomburg has commented WKDW�´$OO�SKRWRJUDSK\�DQG�ÀOP�IRRWDJH�ZDV�FDSWXUHG�RQ�D�FKHDS�Olympus snapshot camera and edited with an outdated version of iMovie.”

12. In a poetry reading on November 11, 2009, Greenstreet spoke about her self-education in technology.


Works Cited

Bolter, Jay David and Richard Grusin. Remediation. Cambridge: MIT Press, 2000. Print.

Buckland, Michael K. “The Kinamo Movie Camera, Emanuel Goldberg and Joris Ivens.” )LOP�+LVWRU\��$Q�,QWHUQDWLRQDO�-RXUQDO�20.1 (2008): 49-58. Print.

Glazier, Loss Pequeño. Digital Poetics: The Making of e-Poetries. Tuscaloosa: U of Alabama Press, 2002. Print.

Greenstreet, Kate. The Last 4 Things. Boise: Ahsahta Press, 2009. Print.

— . “Author’s Statement.” Ahsahta Press, n.d. 13 Dec. 2009.

— . Interview by Jean Valentine. Bookslut. Features, Sep. 2009. Web. 23 Apr. 2010.

Hayles, N. Katherine. “The Time of Digital Poetry: From Object to Event.” New Media Poetics: Contexts, Technotexts, Theories. Ed. Adalaide Morris and Thomas Swiss. Cambridge: MIT Press, 2006. 181-209. Print.

— . “Intermediation: The Pursuit of a Vision.” New Literary History 2007, 38: 99–125. Print.

— . Electronic Literature. Notre Dame: U of Notre Dame Press, 2008. Print.

— . Writing Machines. Designed by Anne Burdick. Cambridge: MIT Press, 2002. Print.

Horak, Jan-Christopher. Lovers of Cinema: the First American Film Avant-Garde, 1919-1945. Madison: Wisconsin UP, 1998. Print.

Jaszi, Sabrina. “The Buzz on Electronic Writing: Fiction Goes Digital.” FlavorPill.com. Flavor Wire, 16 Dec. 2009. Web. 3 Apr. 2010.

Kelly, Kevin. “Extra-Less Films.” Kevin Kelly’s Lifestream. Conceptual Trends - Current Topics, 13 Jan. 2008. Web. 23 Apr. 2010.

MacDonald, Scott. Cinema 16: Documents toward a History of the Film Society. Philadelphia: Temple UP, 2002. Print.

Manovich, Lev. The Language of New Media. Cambridge: MIT Press,


2001. Print.

— . “Post-Media Aesthetics.” Manovich.net. 2001. Web. 23 Apr. 2010.

McCabe, Susan. Cinematic Modernism. Cambridge: Cambridge UP, 2005. Print.

Mitchell, W.J.T. “Narrative, Memory, Slavery.” Picture Theory. Chicago: Chicago UP, 1994. 184-207. Print.

O’Pray, Michael. Avant-Garde Film: Forms, Themes and Passions. /RQGRQ��:DOOÁRZHU�3UHVV��3ULQW�

3HUORͿ��0DUMRULH��´6FUHHQLQJ�WKH�3DJH�3DJLQJ�WKH�6FUHHQ�µ�New Media Poetics: Contexts, Technotexts, Theories. Ed. Adalaide Morris and Thomas Swiss. Cambridge: MIT Press, 2006. 143-162. Print.

Sturken, Marita. “Paradox in the Evolution of an Art Form: Great Expectations and the Making of a History.” Illuminating Video: An Essential Guide to Video Art. Ed. Doug Hall and Sally Jo Fisher. New York: Aperture, 2005. 101-121. Print.


Using Facebook Within a Composition 'SYVWI�XS�4VSQSXI�-VE�7LSV W��±0MFIVEXSV]�0IEVRMRK²Gina Marie Giardina

The oppressed, having internalized the image of the oppressor and adopted his guidelines, are fearful of freedom.

—Paulo Freire

Beneath the hesitancy, the doubt, and the rigidity of my students, there remain stores of intellect, emotion, comedy, and Utopian

needs, waiting to happen.

—Ira Shor

In his book Critical Teaching and Everyday Life, Ira Shor’s ideas for critical thinking are largely based on what Shor and his mentor and colleague Paulo Freire term as “liberatory learning.” Shor states that students need to participate in not only their own self-DZDUHQHVV�DQG� LQWURVSHFWLRQ�µ�EXW�LQ�VRFLDO�UHÁHFWLRQ�DV�ZHOO��What LV�JRLQJ�RQ�LQ�VRFLHW\"�&DQ�,�>WKH�VWXGHQW@�DͿHFW�FKDQJH�LQ�DUHDV�WKDW�,�DP�passionate about? But where is this knowledge coming from? Shor DQG�)UHLUH�ÀUVW�DGGUHVV�WKH�LGHD�RI�´OLEHUDWRU\�OHDUQLQJµ�EDFN�LQ�WKH�late 1970s when the largest exchange of information—other than word of mouth—came from newspapers and television. But today, people are not limited to morning newspapers or the rush home to catch the evening news. The image of the neighborhood newspaper delivery boy has been replaced with the image of a businessperson ZLWK� D� WR�JR� FXS� RI� FRͿHH�� FKHFNLQJ� FXUUHQW� HYHQWV� RQ� D�PRELOH�device. Even around Wright State University’s campus, at least half of the students are buried in their mobile devices. While some DUH�UHDGLQJ�H%RRNV�DQG�RWKHUV�DUH�VXUÀQJ�WKH�ZHE��LW�LV�VDIH�WR�VD\�that the majority are either texting friends or participating in social networking—namely Facebook.

According to Nielsen’s 2012 social media report, the use of social networks continues to grow with advancements in mobile devices—particularly apps—and Facebook remains the most popular social

The author is a graduate student in English with an emphasis in Rhetoric and Composition at Wright State University.


networking site (5). Figure 1 deomstrates how people connected to social media from 2011 to 2012. With the plethora of devices available and the automatic status updates and news feeds, it is nearly impossible to be completely out-of-touch with friends and family as well as local, national, and global news. Because of this, media literacy is more important now than ever and this importance will continue to grow with more and more digital communication advancements. Shor discusses the disconnect between students and their critical thinking skills, attributing it largely to the increasing speed of life. He argues that critical thinking skills equip the students with a protective lining from social and political “manipulation” DQG�WKDW�WKH�SXVK�WRZDUGV�´PDFKQLÀFDWLRQµ�LV�ODUJHO\�WR�EODPH�IRU�the disjunction (48). But the speed Shor speaks of belongs to the late 1970s when this book was written—a speed that when juxtaposed ZLWK�WKH�VSHHG�RI�WZHQW\�ÀUVW�FHQWXU\�WHFKQRORJLFDO�GHYHORSPHQWV��makes Shor’s speed seem more like a relaxing Sunday drive.

:LWK�WKH�WZHQW\�ÀUVW�FHQWXU\�ZUDSSHG�LQ�NHHSLQJ�XS�ZLWK�WKH�ODWHVW�technology, there is no denying the degree to which technology becomes overwhelming. These constantly changing technological DGYDQFHPHQWV� �´PDFKQLÀFDWLRQVµ�� DUH� FHQWHUHG�RQ�JHWWLQJ� WKLQJV�completed faster and with less necessary resources—like grocery store self-check-outs, fast-food restaurants, eBooks, etc.—and in the modern world, faster often equates to easier. Because of this even more increased “acceleration,” one might conclude that the possibilities for critical thinking are even more dismal. I have to admit that after my initial read-through of chapter two in Shor’s book—“Interferences to Critical Thought: Consciousness in School and Daily Life”— it was easy to blame technological advancement for the rushed world. Being from the working class, juggling work, family, and the demands of my graduate coursework along with trying to keep up with current events using the latest technology is overwhelming. But with the increasing demand for mobile

Fig. 1 2012 Nielson “Social Media Report”


devices that can access more and more information at faster and faster speeds, the problem lies not with the accessibility to all the information, but in how we manipulate it. Facebook, for example, is one of the modern day “accelerations,” but the problem is not the abundance of information constantly accessible via Facebook; The problem lies in the new variation of literacy skills necessary to analyze and sort through information. The possibilities to extend Shor’s late 1970s advocacy for student-empowered “liberatory OHDUQLQJµ�DUH�FDPRXÁDJHG�E\�WKH�WZHQW\�ÀUVW�FHQWXU\·V�UDSLG�ÀUH�accessibility to Facebook status updates and news feeds. Thus, ZKDW� SURIHVVRUV� RI� ÀUVW�\HDU� FRPSRVLWLRQ� FRXUVHV� QHHG� WR� WHDFK�their students is not how to further divide these social media from their academic lives; students will not be receptive to separation of university and society. Instead, professors need to empower students by showing them how they are already building advanced critical thinking skills by using Facebook, and teach them other ways media could enhance their experiences with writing by VKRZLQJ�WKHP�RWKHU�XVHV�IRU�QHZ�PHGLD�WKDW�FDQ�EHQHÀW�ERWK�WKHLU�academic careers as well as their everyday lives.

*EWX�*SV[EVHMRK�JVSQ��XS��

Along with the technologically-driven acceleration of society over the past thirty years comes a change to the college classroom as well. When Shor began talking about “liberatory learning,” the change of the university was the expansion of the [public] community college that largely came as a result of the implementation of the GI Bill after WWII. What he considers the [negative] accelerations of life were the technological advancements of “elevators . . . electronic cash registers . . ., motorized toothbrushes, food processors, [and] electric razors” (65). These made daily functions faster, and to Shor, that speed created too much of a rush, which he concluded would OLPLW�WKH�WLPH�QHHGHG�IRU�UHÁHFWLRQ�DQG�FULWLFDO�WKLQNLQJ��2YHU�WLPH��Shor felt this would enable mental apathy.

Accelerated consciousness cannot perform rational inquiry of reality, but it is ideal for absorbing political and commercial slogans, for enjoying rock music, for processing headline QHZV�ÁDVKHV�DQG�]LQJLQJ�EXUJHU�DGYHUWLVHPHQWV��6KRU��

In this passage, Shor divides the university from society, and in the late 1970s, this divide was much wider than it is today. Part of the ideology behind the public community college was that higher learning did not have to be limited to just the elite; the working class FRXOG�ÀW�LQWR�DQG�OHDUQ�IURP�WKH�XQLYHUVLW\�DV�ZHOO��%XW�WKH�GDLO\�OLYHV�RI�WKH�ZRUNLQJ�FODVV�DUH�PXFK�GLͿHUHQW�IURP�WKRVH�RI�WKH�HOLWH��


While students who come from more privileged backgrounds may EH�IUHH�IURP�WKH�ÀQDQFLDO�UHVSRQVLELOLW\�RI�WXLWLRQ�DQG�KRXVLQJ��DQG�only have to concentrate on their classes, working class students not only have to acclimate to an unfamiliar environment—being PRVW� OLNHO\� WKH�ÀUVW� LQ� WKHLU� IDPLOLHV� WR� VWHS� IRRW� RQ� D�XQLYHUVLW\�campus—they also have to juggle their college coursework with a full-time job that is required to support both themselves and their families.

7KH�WZHQW\�ÀUVW�FHQWXU\�DFDGHPLF�HQYLURQPHQW�FRQWLQXHV�WR�PRUSK�as society embraces even more technological advancements. Similar to the changes surrounding accessibility to higher learning that WKH�ODWH��V�DͿRUGHG��WKH�WZHQWLHWK�FHQWXU\�KDV�LWV�RZQ�EUHHG�RI�changes that attempt to allow for more accessibility. The expanding availability of hybrid and online courses, as well as entirely-online degree programs, are now among the options for higher learning and those online options are being used inside and outside of academia. As an employee of Wright Patterson Air Force Base, over 90% of my annual training is completed online. The ability to navigate multiple online environments is now an expectation rather than a heavily-sought-after skill—like it was back in the PLG��V�ZKHQ�,�ÀUVW�HQWHUHG�WKH�ZRUNIRUFH��,Q��WR�WKH�VKRFN�of many baby boomers that did not grow up with computers let alone social networks, the Secretary of the Air Force decided to allow the use of social networking in the workplace, recognizing its improvements to community and morale (AFI 33-129). Yet in the academic environment, many professors that I have spoken with over the past few years continue to believe that using social networking in the classroom could weaken students, inundating them with countless amounts of needless information. Just last year, I spoke to a professor about the overwhelming amount of political information on Facebook as well as on other media. She agreed with a sigh and quoted poet William Wordsworth—“The world is too much with us.”

Her and the other professors’ thoughts parallel Shor’s late 1970s viewpoint—blaming technological advancement for students’ inabilities to silence innovation in order to develop critical thinking skills. But change does not come easily. Are these scholars merely projecting their own unwillingness to plug-in to the changes of the university—as if the university they experienced as students just might reappear? And if that is so, would these professors not be the oppressors—their students, the oppressed—when Paulo Freire states, “The oppressed, having internalized the image of the oppressor and adopted his guidelines, are fearful of freedom” (47)? The academic environment many professors experienced as students had less technologically-driven interruptions—both


inside and outside of the university walls. Should students learn in an environment unlike the world outside the academy? Isn’t it best that students learn how to manipulate the available communication WRROV�RI�WKH�WZHQW\�ÀUVW�FHQWXU\"�

Wright State University English professor Robert Rubin supports XVLQJ�)DFHERRN�LQ�KLV�ÀUVW�\HDU�&RPSRVLWLRQ�FODVVURRPV��,Q�D�UHFHQW�conversation, he explained that a few years ago, he found himself FRQVWDQWO\� FKDVLQJ� VWXGHQWV� RͿ� VRFLDO� QHWZRUNLQJ� VLWHV� GXULQJ�class. But while many professors complained about this disruption, Rubin said, “I decided to just use it in class—ya know—to kind of beat [the students] at their own game.” Rubin’s decision aligns with Shor’s “liberatory learning” because it allows the students to have more control by using a medium they are most familiar with. In her 2010 article, “Meeting Student Writers Where They Are: Using Wikipedia to Teach Responsible Scholarship,” Professor Paula Patch (Elon University) would agree with Rubin’s ideology as well—using a medium with which the students are more IDPLOLDU��´:ULWLQJ�IDFXOW\�QHHG�WR�ÀQG�ZD\V�WR�FRPSHO�VWXGHQWV�WR�slow down and think critically about texts that they tend typically to view through a decidedly noncritical lens” (278). While Patch is talking about Wikipedia, this also would apply to Facebook and any other heavily student-traveled medium developed in the future.

Rubin also stated that his hybrid classes allow for more students to participate in discussions. The students that are usually quiet or more reserved in the traditional class, due to the pressure associated with speaking in public, are usually much more active in the Facebook discussions. He went on to say that this did not take away from the traditional classroom discussions because those that are more outgoing still have the opportunity to be vocal when the class meets on campus. Rubin invited me to one of his past Facebook classrooms and I was pleasantly surprised to see both the quantity and quality of the comments (used for peer review in Rubin’s class). He usually teaches two sections of Composition and he combines them for his Facebook classroom in order to elicit more feedback for the students. Aside from occasional current event postings, Rubin participated very little in the peer review comments. This would align with Shor’s “liberatory learning” because not only is the professor largely removed (although the students are aware that the professor sees their posts and comments), but this creates a more student-empowered community. The students are free to comment and post articles on current issues that interest them.


)ZIV]HE]�'VMXMGEP�8LMROMRK�SR�*EGIFSSOCritical thinking is already happening—strengthening—globally. Tweets, Facebook posts, and Pinterest “pins” allow people to communicate with one another regardless of time zones, and mobile devices allow for this regardless of location. An audience is available twenty-four hours per day and often that audience will KDYH�GLͿHULQJ�RSLQLRQV�DQG�H[SHULHQFHV��0\�ÀUVW�GUDZ�WR�)DFHERRN�back in 2008 was simply to keep in touch and share photos with family and friends. I had used MySpace for this, but everyone was switching over to Facebook so I followed the crowd. This draw, however, changed and I attribute that mostly to the presidential race and politics of 2008. As my “liked” pages expanded from mainly hobby-related sites (i.e. writing, photography, sports) to more politically-driven news sites, current events of the world were VXGGHQO\�DW�P\�ÀQJHUWLSV³OLWHUDOO\³HYHU\�WLPH�,�ORJJHG�RQ�WR�P\�Facebook account. My family, all very conservative due largely WR�WKHLU�UHOLJLRXV�DOLDWLRQV��FRQVWDQWO\�SRVWHG�ZKDW�,�FRQVLGHUHG�rather ignorant posts about homosexuality, welfare, immigrants, etc, that my leftist sway paired with my sometimes annoying desire to be in a constant state of “teaching” would not allow me to ignore. I quickly discovered that certain levels of ignorance were everywhere, including in my own thoughts. In a conversation I had with a man on an August 23rd (2012) Dayton Daily News Facebook post about ex-senator Todd Akin’s UDQW� UHJDUGLQJ� ´OHJLWLPDWH� UDSHµ� RI�ZRPHQ�� WKH�PDQ�ÁLSSHG� WKH�conversation and began discussing the rape of men by men in prisons and how there is no protection for them so why should there be so much emphasis placed on protection for women. Right away, ,�ZDV�RͿHQGHG�DQG�LPSXOVLYHO\�� ,� WULHG�WR�EULQJ�WKH�FRQYHUVDWLRQ�back to the topic. How dare this man change the subject from innocent women to men in prison!��%XW�DV�,�VDW�ZLWK�P\�ODSWRS�DQG�FRͿHH�DW�The Emporium in Yellow Springs, trying to decide what my next comment should be, I began thinking more about this man’s comments. They seemed so desperate for an audience and for a man to be discussing man-on-man rape, my immediate assumption was that this man was speaking from personal experience. From there, I was immediately concerned for the safety of both this man DQG�DQ\�RWKHUV��L�H��SROLFH�RFHUV��VHFXULW\�JXDUGV��HWF��WKDW�PLJKW�cross his path. After all, he could be anyone—anywhere. I decided to send him a personal message, a more private conversation to let him know that I was paying attention; I was listening to him. As we communicated privately, I watched the DDN Facebook page to see if he was still having angry conversations with other commenters, but his posts had stopped. I exchanged a few brief emails with the


private message option and he shared his experiences as well as links to pages about this injustice that he was so passionate about. I KDYH�D�IHZ�IULHQGV�ZKR�DUH�ORFDO�SROLFH�RFHUV��DQG�,�WKRXJKW�WKDW�RQH�RI�WKHP�PLJKW�EH�DEOH�WR�RͿHU�VRPH�UHVRXUFHV�WKDW�,�FRXOG�JLYH�to this gentleman. I passed along some information for him as well as a support group and he thanked me. That was it. Looking at my social actions, Facebook allowed me to console the man—to show KLP�WKDW�VRPHRQH�ZDV�OLVWHQLQJ��%XW�ORRNLQJ�DW�WKH�GLͿHUHQW�VWDJHV�RI�P\�FRPPHQWV�DV�ZHOO�DV�P\�DELOLWLHV�WR�ÀOWHU�RWKHU�FRPPHQWV��,�was using critical thinking skills to discern what my own reaction should be to the heated conversation.

As stated earlier in this paper, Shor focuses on the need for students to participate in not only their own self-awareness and ´LQWURVSHFWLRQ�µ�EXW�LQ�VRFLDO�UHÁHFWLRQ�DV�ZHOO��7KURXJK�)DFHERRN��,� DP� DEOH� WR� FRPPXQLFDWH� ZLWK� SHRSOH� RI� GLͿHUHQW� JHQGHUV��cultures, races, etc.; I can recognize my own biases (i.e. a gender bias seen above) because Facebook allows for a disconnect between written and oral communication. In an article by Bill Anderson entitled “Writing power into online discussion,” he states that just because the student in an online environment is physically invisible, identities (i.e. race, gender, culture, etc) can still be visible in discussions:

You may be able to go online and not have anyone know your [identities]—you may even be able to take cyberspace’s potential for anonymity a step further and masquerade as DQ� >LGHQWLW\@� WKDW� GRHVQ·W� UHÁHFW� WKH� UHDO�� RLQH� \RX³EXW�neither the invisibility nor the mutability of online identity make is possible for you to escape you “real world” identity completely (my emphasis, 111).

While escaping reality is not conducive to promoting awareness, sometimes it can get in the way. The man I spoke with on Facebook was a loyal conservative and I was able to deduce that through his other comments. While I am sure he assumed that I was more liberal, he still wasn’t aware of all my identities. The reality of my sexual orientation or age might have gotten in the way of his willingness to chat with me. And quite frankly, physical attributes also can have an impact on willingness to communicate. My responses took all of WKLV�LQWR�FRQVLGHUDWLRQ³´LQWURVSHFWLRQµ�DV�ZHOO�DV�VRFLDO�UHÁHFWLRQ��Had this conversation happened F2F, assumptions might have been PDGH�DQG�WKH�FRQYHUVDWLRQ�PLJKW�KDYH�JRQH�D�GLͿHUHQW�ZD\³RU�not happened at all. Knowing myself, I probably would have just avoided the confrontation after I deduced his identities (angry male conservative ex-con). For me, F2F conversations about controversial topics feel more like confrontations while online conversations about them seem to have more opportunity to just be conversations


ZLWK�GLͿHULQJ�SHUVSHFWLYHV³D�SRVVLELOLW\�IRU�EURDGHQLQJ�

&EWMGEPP]©-X´W�.YWX�)\TSWYVII have always been envious of people who travel all over the ZRUOG�� EHFDXVH� ,� WKLQN� H[SRVXUH� WR� GLͿHUHQW� FXOWXUHV� EURDGHQV�SHUVSHFWLYHV��7KH�EURDGHQLQJ�RI�SHUVSHFWLYHV��LQ�D�ODUJH�VFDOH�HͿRUW��makes for a more informed, more peaceful society. My personal H[SHULHQFHV�WKURXJK�)DFHERRN�FRQYHUVDWLRQV�RͿHU�DQ�DOWHUQDWLYH�WR�WKDW�H[SRVXUH�JUDQWHG�WKURXJK�WUDYHO��(YHQ�LI�,�GLG�KDYH�WKH�ÀQDQFLDO�means to travel more, my shyness and introversion would most likely silence me in unfamiliar places. Shor says that “beneath the hesitancy, the doubt, and the rigidity of [his] students, there remain stores of intellect, emotion, comedy, and Utopian needs, waiting WR�KDSSHQ�µ� ��7R�D�ÀUVW�\HDU� FROOHJH� VWXGHQW�� WKH�XQLYHUVLW\� LV�an unfamiliar place and that fact alone creates such hesitancy and doubt. Professors shouldn’t strip these students of their identities by making their writing conform only to the standards of university-OHYHO�ZULWLQJ³RU� DW� OHDVW�� QRW� ULJKW� DZD\��$ORQJ�ZLWK� WKDW�� ÀUVW�year Composition professors need to be open to communication RFFXUULQJ�HYHU\ZKHUH�DV�ZHOO�DV� LQ�DOO� WKH�GLͿHUHQW� IRUPV�� ,� WHQG�to be a bit of an optimist, but it is our jobs as educators and future educators to help students build their own academic identities—to PDNH�WKHP�IHHO�OLNH�WKH\�MXVW�PLJKW�EH�DEOH�WR�ÀQG�WKHLU�SODFH�LQVLGH�the university—and I believe that begins with mutual respect and empathy. Of course I’m not naïve to the reality that not all professors truly want to help students, but my pedagogical optimism leads me to believe that the ratio leans more towards those who do.


Works Cited

Anderson, Bill. “Writing power into online discussion.” Computers and Composition 23.1 (2006): 108-24. Web.

Patch, Paula. “Meeting Students Where They Are: Using Wikipedia to Teach Responsible Scholarship.” Teaching English in the Two-Year College 37.3 (March 2010): 278-85. Web.

Rubin, Robert. Personal interview. 6 December 2012.

Shor, Ira. “Interferences to Critical Thought: Consciousness in School and Daily Life.” Critical Teaching & Everyday Life. Chicago: U of Chicago P, 1980. 46-91. Print.

“State of the Media: The Social Media Report 2012.” Nielsenwire. The Nielsen Company. Web.


2IKSXMEXMRK�[MXL�ER�-QEKMREV]�%YHMIRGI��0MQMXEXMSRW�SJ�7SGMEP�'SRWXVYGXMZMWX�2SXMSRW�SJ�)XLSW�JSV�*MVWX�=IEV�Composition

Katrina L. Miller

Given the shared history of rhetoric and composition, the modern tendency of mining rhetoric’s rich Greco-Roman traditions for contemporary pedagogical strategies is understandable. The dual QDWXUH�RI�WKH�ÀHOG�RI�UKHWRULF�DQG�FRPSRVLWLRQ�LQYLWHV�VXFK�FURVVLQJ�over and reaching back. However, scholars have dutifully noted how such modern appropriations run the risk of being reductive. For example, 21st Century composition textbooks often include reference to Aristotle’s three rhetorical appeals—ethos, pathos, and logos. Of the three, the concept of ethos is perhaps the most slippery. 7KH�GLFXOW\� VXUURXQGLQJ� HWKRV� LV� FUHDWHG�� LQ�SDUW�� E\� UHGXFWLYH�appropriations which stem from the fact that many contemporary rhetoric handbooks and composition textbooks reduce ethos into WLG\�RQH�ZRUG�GHÀQLWLRQV�OLNH�FUHGLELOLW\��)RU�H[DPSOH��D�UHYLHZ�RI�two popular rhetoric handbooks edited or coauthored by seminal scholars in rhetoric and composition reveals relatively one-dimensional conceptions of ethos. The Brief McGraw-Hill Handbook, FR�DXWKRUHG� E\�.DWKOHHQ�<DQFH\�� SDUHQWKHWLFDOO\� GHÀQHV� HWKRV� DV�“character,” and further explains: “ethical appeals present authors as fair, reasonable, and trustworthy, backed with the testimony of experts” (Maimon, Peritz, and Yancey 122). The handbook later LQVWUXFWV� VWXGHQWV� WR� ´EXLOG� \RXU� HWKRVµ� E\� ´LQÁXHQFLQJ� UHDGHUV�to trust your character” (128). Andrea Lunsford’s Everyday Writer KDQGERRN�VLPLODUO\�GHÀQHV�HWKLFDO�DSSHDOV�DV�´WKRVH�WKDW�VXSSRUW�credibility, moral character, and goodwill of the writer” (72). $OWKRXJK� WKLV� WKUHH�SDUW� GHÀQLWLRQ� FHUWDLQO\� ÀWV� ZLWK� WUHQGV� LQ�FRQFHSWXDOL]LQJ� HWKRV�� LW� LV� LPSRUWDQW� WR� QRWH� WKDW� /XQVIRUG� ÀUVW�discusses ethical appeals in the fallacy section, which positions ethos as a something students must be aware of as a rhetorical strategy that might be used against them, or that they as a critical reading audience must be vigilant against fallacious ethical

The author is a graduate student at the University of Nevada, Reno.


appeals. In this way, ethos is something audience members must be involved in rather than a rhetorical tool available to student writers. When Lunsford turns to discuss a student writer’s own HWKRV��VKH�IRFXVHV�RQ�WKH�DXGLHQFH·V�UROH�LQ�UHÁHFWLQJ�DQ�DXWKRU·V�HWKRV�� ´7R�PDNH� \RXU� DUJXPHQW� FRQYLQFLQJ�� \RX�PXVW� ÀUVW� JDLQ�the respect and trust of your readers, or establish your credibility with them” (82). Lunsford lists four ways students can establish ethos: demonstrating knowledge, establishing common ground, demonstrating fairness, and using visuals (82). Again, Lunsford does an impressive job of giving a quick overview of ethos, but both her handbook and Yancey’s seem to simplify ethos into a static and individualized concept; ethos becomes something a writer either has or does not have, and writers construct ethos independent of audience and prior to the actual speech event. Audiences, then, PHUHO\�UHÁHFW�WKDW�LQWHUQDO�HWKRV�

:KLOH� WH[WERRNV� KDYH� IDYRUHG� VXFK� DQ� RYHUVLPSOLÀFDWLRQ��rhetoricians (classical and contemporary) have honored ethos’s conceptual depth. For example, re-reading major milestones in the rhetorical conception of ethos illuminates how ethos is a complex social exchange between humans. Some contemporary scholars, such as Nedra Reynolds, use the less common translation of ethos as “dwelling place” to unite conceptions of ethos as something rooted in the individual and ethos as a social action.

This article aims to continue the recent practice of recuperating ancient rhetorical concepts for modern composition classrooms E\� LQYHVWLJDWLQJ� KRZ� DQFLHQW� FRQFHSWLRQV� RI� HWKRV³GHÀQHG� DV�GZHOOLQJ�SODFH³PD\�EH�PRUH�KHOSIXO�IRU�WKH�VSHFLÀF�SHGDJRJLFDO�VWUXJJOHV� VXUURXQGLQJ� WHDFKLQJ� UHVHDUFKHG� DUJXPHQWV�ZLWK� ÀUVW�year writing students. I that posit some of the common challenges of teaching argumentation and academic research might be assuaged with a classical orientation to ethos in addition to more modern social-constructivist notions of ethos that rely most exclusively on audience response to a speaker/text as the gauge which measures a rhetor’s ethos. For example, although several seminal studies have reframed ethos as a social process of negotiation between VSHDNHU�DQG�DXGLHQFH��H�J��&KHUU\��VXFK�D�SRVWPRGHUQ�GHÀQLWLRQ�RI�HWKRV�DV�ÁXLG�DQG�QHJRWLDWHG�VHHPV�LOO�ÀWWLQJ�LQ�WKH�FRQWH[W�RI�WKH�composition classroom where students are often asked to write to imaginary professional or public audiences with whom they never actually interact. Popular conceptions of ethos as a social process of negotiation fall short in the actual writing situations of most ÀUVW�\HDU�FRPSRVLWLRQ�VWXGHQWV��5HWXUQLQJ�WR�D�GHÀQLWLRQ�RI�HWKRV�as dwelling place, however, might be more suitable for teaching ÀUVW�\HDU� DUJXPHQWDWLYH� UHVHDUFK� ZULWLQJ�� IRU� KRZ� FDQ� HWKRV�be negotiated with an imaginary audience? I propose that such


negotiations are realistically done between students and their peers and instructor as members of an academic discourse community. Furthermore, understanding ethos as a habit of mind would bolster more common understandings of ethos as a negotiated social quality of character.

To be clear, the approach I am recommending acknowledges that certain social elements of writing are elided if ethos is entirely reframed as an element quarantined internally within the writer. Social negotiation is an important component of writing instruction (e.g. writers must be aware of the needs of their audience, writers can learn a tremendous amount from peer response). I am not advocating a composition classroom that becomes entirely text-centered rather than student-centered; I am arguing for strategic XVH�RI�RQH�DQFLHQW�GHÀQLWLRQ�RI�HWKRV�DV�´GZHOOLQJ�SODFHµ�WR�EROVWHU�some of postmodern social constructive trends within composition pedagogy. Recuperating this particular ancient notion of ethos as not solely tied to the social relationship between rhetor and audience, is a pedagogical strategy both available to composition LQVWUXFWRUV�DQG�SHUKDSV�PRUH�VXLWDEOH�DQG�HͿHFWLYH�LQ�WKH�FRQWH[W�RI�ÀUVW�\HDU�ZULWLQJ�

Aristotelian Ethos

Ethos as a negotiated construct of a speaker’s outward expression of FUHGLELOLW\�LV�WLHG�WR�YHU\�DQFLHQW�GHÀQLWLRQV�RI�UKHWRULF��$FFRUGLQJ�to Patricia Bizzell and Bruce Herzberg, Aristotle claims that ethos “depends on the personal character of the speaker” (181). Looking back from a contemporary perspective, it is natural to think of ethos signifying the arguably stable mental, spiritual, and moral qualities that make an individual unique. However, ethos is simultaneously a social act because, according to Aristotle, it is constructed through the audience’s reception of the speaker’s words. Aristotle explains “There are three things we trust other than logical demonstration: These are practical wisdom [phronesis] and virtue [arête] and good will [eunoia]” (112). In order to be successful, speakers must “exhibit” at least one and preferably all three of these things (Aristotle 112). $ULVWRWOH�UHDUPV�WKDW� D�SHUVRQ�VHHPLQJ�WR�KDYH�DOO�WKHVH�TXDOLWLHV�is necessarily persuasive to the hearers” (113). Aristotelian ethos, then, can be understood as an embodied performance.

The audience’s interpretation of the intentions of the speaker also weighs heavily here. In chapters 12-17 of Book 2, Aristotle discusses WKH�FKDUDFWHU�RI�PDQ\�GLͿHUHQW�NLQGV�RI�SHRSOH��ROG��PLGGOH�DJHG��young, rich, powerful, those coming from good birth). What is important to note about this discussion of character is that Aristotle


frames it as a discussion of potential types of audiences. In this way, he is speaking to rhetors about how to tailor a speech act to meet the expectations of certain audiences based on stereotypes related WR� GHPRJUDSKLFV�� $ULVWRWOH� LPSOLHV� WKDW� DQ� DXGLHQFH·V� DͿHFWLYH�sense of an orator (how they feel about the character and intentions RI� WKH�RUDWRU��VWURQJO\� LQÁXHQFHV�WKH�SURFHVV�QHJRWLDWLRQ�EHFDXVH�LW� LQFOXGHV� SHUFHSWLRQ� RI� WKH� VSHDNHU·V� FKDUDFWHU� �GHÀQHG� DV� WKH�person’s credibility, the ethics of the actual argument, and the speaker’s intentions behind the speech act). In this way, the actual speech plays a role in the performance of ethos. Kennedy argues “the predominant meaning of ethos in Aristotle is ‘moral character’ DV� UHÁHFWHG� LQ�GHOLEHUDWH�FKRLFH�RI�DFWLRQV�DQG�DV�GHYHORSHG� LQWR�a habit of mind” (148). In Book 1, while discussing the ends of UKHWRULF��$ULVWRWOH� H[SODLQV� ´UKHWRULFDO� SHUVXDVLRQ� LV� HͿHFWHG� QRW�only by demonstrative but by ethical argument; it helps a speaker to convince us, if we believe that he has certain qualities himself, namely goodness, or goodwill towards us, or both together” (197). As a result, in addition to ethos being related to innate qualities comprising the character of a person or internal trustworthiness of a speech, ethos as goodwill adds another dimension, which more social in nature. Ethos as an embodied performance is more closely linked to postmodern conceptions of ethos than one might expect.

Ethos in the Aristotelian sense can just as likely refer to the trustworthiness of the speech, but for Aristotle ethos “should be achieved by what the speaker says, not by what people think of this character before he begins to speak” (Bizzell and Herzberg 182). Shifting focus to “what the speaker says” as opposed to the character of the speaker marks ethos as something which emerges from the embodied performance of the orator (i.e. level RI�FRQÀGHQFH�LQ�VSHDNHU��\HW�$ULVWRWOH�VHHPV�WR�ÀUPO\�URRW�HWKRV�into the actual words and rhetoric the orators employs (i.e. the logical argument), which signals an imbrication of ethos and logos (Bizzell and Herzberger 182). As such, perception of the speaker cannot be totally separated from reception of the speech; the two are intertwined, providing at least two distinct dimensions through which ethos can be sensed and analyzed: internal and external. Ethos, as Aristotle explains it, is about the audience’s reception of the speaker’s words and embodied performance.

Such inclusion of character analysis falls beyond the scope of Aristotle’s discussion of ethos as one part of the tripartite artistic pisteis. However, there is an easily understandable relationship between artistic and inartistic means of persuasion, and rhetoricians should not attempt to pigeonhole ethos into one category of pistei; ethos can easily occupy a position in each category. Aristotle certainly does not strictly categorize it as an exclusively artistic


proof. In fact, he demonstrates how ethos is so multifaceted it can easily morph from an artistic pistis to an inartistic pistis. In this way, a positive ethos can function as both an artistic and inartistic pistis.

'SRXIQTSVEV]�9RHIVWXERHMRKW�SJ�)XLSWDespite his enormous contributions to the study of rhetoric, Aristotle only touches on some of the complexities that are embedded within ethos; contemporary rhetoricians have been much more explicit about the element of social construction within ethos and the process of negotiation between orator and agentive auditors. As such, audience members become agentive stakeholders in rhetorical exchanges. In his landmark essay on ethos and persona, Roger Cherry discusses self-representation as a crucial element of a text. $OWKRXJK�HWKRV�DQG�SHUVRQD�DUH�RIWHQ�FRQÁDWHG��&KHUU\�SDUVHV�RXW�NH\�GLͿHUHQFHV�EHJLQQLQJ�ZLWK�KLVWRULFDO�GHÀQLWLRQV�RI�HDFK�WHUP��+H�DUJXHV�WKDW�$ULVWRWOH·V�GHÀQLWLRQ�RI�HWKRV�SRVLWLRQHG�LW�DV�RQH�RI�the three pisteis—the methods of persuasion. In this context, ethos communicates the rhetor’s moral character, knowledge, and stance toward the audience. According to Cherry, these three elements synthesize to construct a sense of credibility of the speaker and the speech. Cherry’s characterization of Aristotetlian ethos corresponds with my explanation in the previous section.

However, whereas rhetorical notions of ethos originate with $ULVWRWOH�� SHUVRQD� HPHUJHV� IURP� HQWLUHO\� GLͿHUHQW� GLVFLSOLQHV��literary studies and theater. Cherry describes persona through metaphors such as masks that authors don or roles authors create for themselves. In this way, persona is akin to ethos since both are conscious manipulations of self-representation on the part of the writer or speaker. Cherry contends that the writer does not hold DOO� WKH�SRZHU��DXGLHQFHV�SOD\�D� VLJQLÀFDQW� UROH� LQ� WKH� VKDSLQJ�RI�rhetorical situations. To help clarify this relationship between audience and speaker/writer, Cherry proposes an ethos-persona continuum. At one end, Cherry positions ethos as a strategy for presenting the speaker as credible and trustworthy. Persona occupies the other end of the continuum as the creation of a particular role in a discourse community. By placing the two terms on a continuum rather than in binary opposition to each other, Cherry acknowledges the fact that there are important rhetorical distinctions between the two concepts. These distinctions, however, are not so essential that the two terms become mutually incompatible.

Cherry’s adroit distinction between these two concepts has


JUHDWO\� DͿHFWHG� VXEVHTXHQW�ZRUN� E\� ERWK� OLWHUDU\� DQG� UKHWRULFDO�VFKRODUV�� +LV� IRXQGDWLRQDO� HWKRV�SHUVRQD� FRQWLQXXP� HͿHFWLYHO\�brings issues of agency and power negotiation into discussions of self-representation. However, his perspective omits some very ancient notions of ethos; namely, ethos as dwelling place. Recent ZRUN�UHFXSHUDWLQJ�WKLV�ROGHU�GHÀQLWLRQ�RI�HWKRV�PRUH�DGHTXDWHO\�explains what I am characterizing as a writer-centric take on ethos.

7SGMEP�and -RHMZMHYEP��)XLSW�EW�±([IPPMRK�4PEGI²�In the introduction of his edited collection, The Ethos of Rhetoric, Michael J. Hyde explains that the collection’s theme was intended to inspire work that reached back to an older and more ´SULPRUGLDOµ� PHDQLQJ� RI� HWKRV� �[LLL�� 6SHFLÀFDOO\�� +\GH� DQG� WKH�other contributors work with the translation of ethos as dwelling places where individuals come together to discuss and deliberate particular matters. While other historians and scholars mention WKLV�RWKHU�GHÀQLWLRQ�RI�HWKRV��H�J��.HQQHG\�LQ�Classical Rhetoric and Its Christian and Secular Traditions), most studies focus solely on the more commonplace understanding of ethos. Hyde, on the other hand, argues these places are intellectual habitats that shape an individual’s ethics and moral character. In this way, more common GHÀQLWLRQV� RI� HWKRV� �FUHGLELOLW\�� PRUDO� FKDUDFWHU�� DUH� DFWXDOO\�derivative elements of the social and intellectual habits practiced LQ�VSHFLÀF� ORFDWLRQV��5HWXUQLQJ� WR� WKLV� IRXQGDWLRQDO�GHÀQLWLRQ��DV�Hyde suggests, provides a new interpretive lens for examining ethos.

Similar to Hyde’s collection, Holiday uses the sense of ethos as a “gathering place” (388). Relying heavily on Reynolds’s work, she FODLPV�WKLV�GHÀQLWLRQ�DXWKRUL]HV�DQDO\VLV�RI�HWKRV�DV�D�VRFLDO�DFW�WKDW�is simultaneously internal and external. To bolster her emphasis on HWKRV�DV�ORFDWLRQ��+ROLGD\�GHÀQHV�HWKRV�DV�D�VKLIWLQJ�VXEMHFW�UHODWLRQ�drawn between certain elements. Holiday extends this discussion of ethos as dwelling places that appears in Hyde’s collection by examining the linkage between the study of invention and ethos, especially in regards to rhetorical teaching (389). Holiday includes an in-depth discussion of ways to understand the ethical nature of ethos. In short, she aims to examine the connection between ethics DQG�LQYHQWLRQ��ZKLFK�ÀOOV�D�JODULQJ�JDS�DPRQJ�WKH�SUHYLRXV�UHVHDUFK�RQ�HWKRV��)RU�WKLV�UHDVRQ��+ROLGD\·V�DUJXPHQW�LV�RI�VLJQLÀFDQW�YDOXH�to scholars interested in ethos because her take on ethos as a socially FRQVWUXFWHG�SHUFHSWLRQ�RI�UHDOLW\�ÀWV�ZLWKLQ�FRPPRQ�SRVWPRGHUQ�views. Her metaphor of ethos as a “dwelling place” also implies social elements such as habititude and conversation.


Habititude and conversation also relate to Reynolds’s contention that speakers and writers name themselves. In her article, “Ethos as Location,” Reynolds examines discursive authority through a spatial metaphor of location. Her work on the role of location, place, and positionality is seminal in composition. One’s ethos, she claims, can be understood as “one’s place or perceived place in the world” (325). Once named, speakers and writers then position themselves LQWR� ORFDWLRQV� WKDW� DOLJQ� ZLWK� VSHFLÀF� VRFLDO� LGHQWLÀFDWLRQV�� ,Q�this way, her work seems very Burkean in nature. According to Reynolds, “ethos, like postmodern subjectivity, shifts and changes over time, across texts, and around competing spaces” (336). As such, ethos becomes a reality that is negotiated between speaker/ZULWHU� DQG� DXGLHQFH�� +HU� DUJXPHQW� KDV� VLJQLÀFDQW� LPSOLFDWLRQV�for any rhetorical study involving issues of community and marginality. With this focus on marginality, Reynolds extends the metaphor of location to include other metaphorical special locations such as “betweens,” which is something previous conceptions of ethos would have elided (333). Holiday’s piece focuses on how contemporary rhetoricians have turned to ethos as a useful frame IRU� GLVFXVVLQJ� HWKLFV� LQ� VLWXDWLRQV� ZKHUH� ´FXOWXUDO� VWUDWLÀFDWLRQ�and inequity underwrite the majority of human interaction” (389). In addition, Holiday’s arguments can also be used to consider marginality in terms of stance towards an issue or a group. For H[DPSOH��DVVXPLQJ�DQ�RXWVLGHU�RU�PDUJLQDO� VWDQFH�DOORZV�D�ÀUVW�year student writer more leeway with skepticism than engaging in an imagined stance as a full legitimate member of a disciplinary discourse community.

9TWLSX�JSV�*MVWX�=IEV�'SQTSWMXMSR�The upshot of examining the complexities of ethos is a more nuanced understanding of how form and content, character and credibility, DV�ZHOO�DV�LQWHJULW\�DQG�KRQHVW\�DͿHFW�KRZ�DXGLHQFHV�MXGJH�ZULWHUV��For example, complicating ethos to include more than just credibility could potentially aid in unraveling the paradox of expertise within WKH� FRQWH[W� RI� WKH�ÀUVW�\HDU�ZULWLQJ��8QGHUJUDGXDWH� VWXGHQWV� DUH�often uncomfortable trying to demonstrate ethos through claims of expertise. However, if instructors unwrap the neat packaging surrounding Aristotelian ethos, new opportunities arise to introduce students to ethos as the ethical and social creditability of both speaker and speech.

Aristotle lays the foundation with his claims about ethos existing both in the writer and writing, and contemporary scholars such as Cherry, Hyde, Holiday, and Reynolds give an excellent description of how auditors are assumed to have agency—they are not just


passive listeners but active participants in speech acts. Due to HWKRV� EHLQJ� GHÀQHG� DV� D� SURFHVV� ZLWK� PXOWLSOH� SDUWLFLSDQWV��VRFLDO� FRQVWUXFWLYLVW� SRVWPRGHUQ� GHÀQLWLRQV� RI� WKH� FRQFHSW� DUH�often attuned to social situation of the speech act including the process of invention and drafting prior to delivery. Melding these two perspectives creates a layered understanding of ethos; ethos is at once something internal (emerging from within the speaker or speech) and external (constructed through a negotiated social process).

5HLÀHG�FRQFHSWLRQV�RI�HWKRV�DV�D�VRFLDO�SURFHVV�RI�QHJRWLDWLRQ�IDLO�WR�PHHW�WKH�QHHGV�RI�ÀUVW�\HDU�ZULWLQJ�VWXGHQWV�EHFDXVH�PRVW�UKHWRULFDO�situations students face will include an imagined audience. As I posited earlier, classical notions of ethos might be more suitable IRU�WHDFKLQJ�ÀUVW�\HDU�DUJXPHQWDWLYH�UHVHDUFK�ZULWLQJ��%\�FODVVLFDO�QRWLRQV� ,� DP� UHIHUHQFLQJ� WKH� ROGHVW� GHÀQLWLRQ� RI� WKH� HWKRV� DV�dwelling place explored by Reynolds and Hyde. The composition classroom is in many ways such a dwelling place. To consider the composition classroom a place where students not only do writing, but also talk about writing and practice writerly identities is to UHDUP�FRPSRVLWLRQ·V�JRDO�RI�KHOSLQJ�VWXGHQWV�HVWDEOLVK�ZULWHUO\�habitudes.

While social elements of writing are elided if ethos is reframed as an element quarantined within the writer, if it is seen as part of the individual in that it is a social interaction with other rhetors, those social elements are again highly prominent. Social negotiation is an important component of writing instruction, including both interaction between writer and audience as well as interaction between writers. I am arguing for a strategic use of ethos as dwelling place to help ethos remain relevant in contemporary rhetorical situations.

,Q�RUGHU�WR�H[SORUH�KRZ�WKLV�FODVVLFDO�GHÀQLWLRQ�RI�HWKRV�PLJKW�VROYH�some pedagogical issues, let us examine the rhetorical situation of the academic research paper. In my English 102 course, students are often reluctant to be assertive in their arguments because they are not experts on their self-chosen research topics. Undergraduate students are often uncomfortable with trying to demonstrate ethos through claims of expertise when their actual experience or knowledge is quite limited. However, if this more complex conception of ethos is employed, new pedagogical opportunities to introduce students to ethos as ethical and social creditability of both speaker and speech arise. Perhaps this is one way to answer John 7ULPEXU·V�FDOO� WR�SUREOHPDWL]H�H[SHUWLVH��WR�ÀQG�ZD\V�WR�UHDUWLFXODWH�it within the circulation of knowledge” (215). Expertise—by which I mean knowledge or practical skill originating inside the writer as opposed to the text—is as a source of ethos. The composition


classroom, then, can function as a rhetorical dwelling place where a PRUH�PXOWLIDFHWHG�FRQÀJXUDWLRQ�RI�HWKRV�LV�IRVWHUHG�

Ethos is complex and as such is not easily quarantined into binaries as something internal or external, individual or social. Recapturing WKLV� DQFLHQW�� SHUKDSV� DQWHFHGHQW�� GHÀQLWLRQ� RI� HWKRV� DV� GZHOOLQJ�or gathering place valorizes the formative process of intellectual social engagement with others, a prominent goal and modus operandi for not only writing instruction, but also education in general. Interaction is a formative force on the writer as well as the writing that emerges from pre- and post-writing social contexts. Audience agency is certainly still present, and an audience’s QDWXUDO�DͿHFWLYH�DQG�HYDOXDWLYH�UHDFWLRQV�WR�ZULWHUV�DQG�WH[WV�VWLOO�warrant the need for audience awareness; however, I maintain that 21st century composition pedagogy could learn valuable lessons by re-examining ethos as dwelling place.


Works Cited

Aristotle. On Rhetoric. Trans. by George Kennedy. New York: Oxford UP, 2007. Print

Bizzell, Patricia and Bruce Herzberg. The Rhetorical Tradition: Readings From the Classical Times to the Present. Boston: Bedford/St. Martin’s, 2001. Print.

Cherry, Roger. “Ethos versus Persona.” Written Communication 5 (1988): 251-76. Print.

Holiday, Judy. “In[ter]vention: Locating Rhetoric’s Ethos.” Rhetoric Review. 28 (2009): 388-405. Print.

Hyde, Michael J. “Introduction: Rhetorically, We Dwell.” The Ethos of Rhetoric. Ed. Michael J. Hyde. Columbia: U South Carolina P, 2004. Xiii-xxviii. Print.

Kennedy, George. Classical Rhetoric and its Christian and Secular Traditions. Chapel Hill: UNC Press, 1999. Print.

Lunsford, Andrea. The Everyday Writer. Boston: Bedford/St. Martin’s, 2010. Print.

Maimon, Elaine, Janice Peritz, and Kathleen Yancey. The Brief McGraw-Hill Handbook. New York: McGraw-Hill, 2007. Print.

Reynolds, Nedra. “Ethos as Location: New Sites for Understanding Discursive Authority.” Rhetoric Review 11.2 (1993): 325-38. Print.

Trimbur, John. “Composition and the Circulation of Writing.” College Composition and Communication 52.2 (2000): 188-219. Print.


Reading, Writing, and the Rhetorics of Whiteness is an investigation into whiteness studies within rhetoric and composition. Written DV� D�GLDORJXH�YLD� DOWHUQDWLQJ� FKDSWHUV��5\GHQ�DQG�0DUVKDOO� RͿHU�numerous critiques of whiteness and suggestions for redressing its stronghold in our classrooms and institutions. The book begins with a familiar trope of pointing out the inconsistency between de facto segregation in U.S. society and colorblind ideology. Ryden and Marshall connect colorblindness to student resistance and antiracist discussions. Part of the introduction is a discussion of whiteness studies, which “highlight (i.e., ‘make visible’) the normative center of racial oppression” (3), and how it connects to rhetoric and composition: “[W]e seek not only to understand the way discourses of whiteness shape our societies and permeate our classrooms but also how to equip ourselves and our students with the critical tools necessary to identify and confront these interpellations” (3-4). Ryden and Marshall quickly review some of the criticisms of whiteness studies and refute that whiteness studies still holds possibilities for social change. Overall, then, this ÀUVW�VHFWLRQ�SURYLGHV�D�XVHIXO�LQWURGXFWLRQ�WR�ZKLWHQHVV�VWXGLHV�DQG�the way it has been taken up in rhetoric and composition.

7KH�ÀUVW� FKDSWHU� LQYHVWLJDWHV� UHVHDUFKHU� ´FRPLQJ�RXWµ� QDUUDWLYHV�that often begin whiteness studies scholarship. Ryden gives her own narrative and critiques several others, putting them into conversation with narrative and trauma theory. Ultimately, Ryden problematizes these “awareness narratives” as being performances that reify whiteness in their subject-centeredness rather than challenge it; accordingly, Ryden and Marshall have written this book as a dialogue in an attempt to make it more productive. The DQDO\VLV�RI�WKH�UKHWRULFDO�HͿHFWV�RI�UHVHDUFKHU�QDUUDWLYHV��SDUWLFXODUO\�in the context of the increasing attention to researcher subjectivity,

6IZMI[�SJ�Reading, Writing, and the Rhetorics of Whiteness

/VMWXM�1G(YJ½I

The author is a Ph.D. student at Illinois State University.

Reading, Writing, and the Rhetorics of Whiteness by Wendy Ryden and Ian Marshall. Routledge Studies in Rhetoric and Communication, 2011.


makes this one of the best chapters in the book.

The next chapter is written by Marshall and is part narrative, part critique of his own experience not being racialized due to his not speaking African American English. This leads him to a discussion of African American students being placed into basic writing EHFDXVH� RI� GLDOHFW� GLͿHUHQFHV� WKDW� DUH� SHUFHLYHG� DV� GHÀFLHQFLHV��Marshall’s argument about students’ right to their own language is not really new, nor is the idea that basic writing is racialized, but he does take a commendable stand in resisting the notion that acquiring Standard English should be the goal for all students. Marshall writes, “Not only does it fail to address the economic and social disparities (and realities) that AAL represents, but it also refuses to address the intrinsic racism of a school system and social order incapable of accounting for the language patterns of so many in the U.S. today” (47).

The third chapter is arguably the most compelling and holds the most possibility (depending on one’s research interests). Couched in exploring student resistance to critical pedagogies, Ryden makes the argument that whiteness is kitsch, or false discourse. Ryden’s claim is that “examining the media’s liberal, multicultural rhetoric on race and racism through the lens of kitsch reveals an alienating and bankrupt discourse that refracts and prevents meaningful discussions of racism in the public sphere and in our classrooms and provides fodder for reactionary claims of postracism” (73).

There is a methodological problem in this chapter, though, in the way that Ryden is calling whiteness itself false discourse. In work that aims to disrupt the supremacy and privilege of whiteness, the term whiteness comes to be used metonymically for white supremacy, white privilege, white normativity, white racism, DQG�HͿRUWV� WR�GLVUXSW� DOO� RI� WKH� DERYH��5\GHQ·V�XVH�RI�ZKLWHQHVV�FRQÁDWHV� DOO� RI� WKHVH� WHUPV�� $QG� VLQFH� 5\GHQ� LV� WDONLQJ� DERXW�public discourse with the aim of improving classroom discourse, FRQÁDWLQJ�ZKLWHQHVV�LWVHOI�ZLWK�IDOVH��UDFLVW�GLVFRXUVH�ZLOO�SUREDEO\�not be convincing to white students. She analyses the public reaction to Don Imus’s “nappy headed hos” comment to demonstrate that condemnation of such comments does little to challenge systemic racism that continues in more subtle ways. Ryden insightfully shows unproductive racial rhetoric in public discourse and how white liberal condemnation of individual racist acts does little to challenge racism as an organizing hierarchical force in our society.

The next chapter is a list of ways that composition courses are embedded with white normativity, including through New Critical approaches to teaching texts, through the ideology of composition as assimilation, and through the way that whiteness is perpetuated


HQWK\PHPDWLFDOO\�E\�LQVWLWXWLRQV�DQG�IDFXOW\�LQ�WKH�ÀHOG��$OWKRXJK�these points are valid and necessary for progressing antiracism in WKH�ÀHOG��WKHUH�DUH�VR�PDQ\�SRLQWV�LQ�VXFK�D�VKRUW�VSDFH�WKDW�WKH\�DUH� SUHVHQWHG� ZLWKRXW� VXFLHQW� QXDQFH� DQG� GHYHORSPHQW�� 7KH�claims here, too, seem uninformed by the work in composition and rhetoric that has noted the colonizing, assimilationist teaching and program practices. Since these practices persist, however, Marshall’s conclusion that “the political and ideological context that students are asked to produce this writing in is always already interpellated as white since this context historically privileges white cultural norms to the exclusion of, and in opposition to, the written and linguistic norms of racialized others” is worth repeating (103).

&KDSWHU� ÀYH� LV� D� SRZHUIXO� FKDSWHU� LQ� WKDW� LW� FRQQHFWV�ZKLWHQHVV�ZLWK� FXUUHQW� VFKRODUVKLS� RQ� WKH� UROH� RI� DͿHFW� LQ� UKHWRULF�� 5\GHQ�argues for the need to pay attention to emotion, to work through HPRWLRQ�UDWKHU�WKDQ�DURXQG�LW�ZKHQ�WU\LQJ�WR�HͿHFW�VRFLDO�FKDQJH�by discussing whiteness. She writes that critical pedagogy fails because it privileges logos over ethos with the assumption that if presented with information, students will understand racism to be illogical (120). However, scholars have found that whiteness LV�UDWLRQDOH�IRU�WKRVH�ZKR�EHQHÀW�IURP�LW��7R�LQFRUSRUDWH�WKH�UROH�RI�HPRWLRQ�LQWR�DQ�HͿHFWLYH�SHGDJRJ\��5\GHQ�UHFRPPHQGV�D�“political conception of emotion” that seeks to understand how “emotion shapes and is shaped through the public sphere and KRZ��WKURXJK�HPRWLRQ��ZH�HͿHFW�VRFLDO�SDUWLFLSDWLRQ�LQ�¶FRPPRQ·�discourses” (126).

7KHVH�LGHDV�DUH�FRPSHOOLQJ�DQG�FHUWDLQO\�UHÁHFW�FXUUHQW�ZRUN�RQ�WKH�role of emotion in rhetoric. Once again, though, I am left wanting more details, such as what this pedagogy would actually look like with students. Thus, this chapters follows a trend in the book where Ryden and Marshall raise many questions, convincingly articulate many arguments for particular methods and outcomes, but leave me wanting to more fully understand how those methods work or how those outcomes might be achieved. Ultimately, then, this text functions as a call for more research into the important topics that Ryden and Marshall raise.

,Q� WKH� ÀQDO� FKDSWHU�� 0DUVKDOO� DGGV� D� WZLVW� WR� WKH� GLVFXVVLRQ� RQ�whiteness narratives by discussing his experience teaching as a black professor. Especially when compared to a white colleague of his, he found that students expect him to talk about race while simultaneously rejecting his views as being biased due to the way he is visibly raced. Marshall writes that his white colleague has a power unavailable to him: “Because [my colleague] is white, he can occupy neutral, invisible position with regard to race that I simply cannot. When he talks about race, it’s not assumed that is from a


position of self-interest, but when I talk, subjectivity as black and male makes me biased – or so our student responses seem to suggest” (142). Marshall then talks about the strange relationship between colorblindness and multiculturalism, and how they both provide students with strategies for students to avoid full engagement. He concludes the chapter by illustrating these tensions through a student example.

Overall, this book will be most compelling for those interested in a brief but thorough introduction to whiteness studies and the ways that whiteness has been taken up in rhetoric and composition. This book will also be useful for scholars looking for exciting ideas to build upon. The largest drawback to the text is the amount covered in such a short space; since there are so many arguments explored, Ryden and Marshall use many sources and a handful of anecdotes DQG� PLQL�DQDO\VHV� WKDW� ZRXOG� EHQHÀW� IURP� PRUH� GHYHORSPHQW�and explanation. Nonetheless, these chapters initiate and continue LPSRUWDQW�GLDORJXHV�DERXW�VSHFLÀF�ZD\V�WKDW�ZKLWHQHVV�KDV�EHHQ�RU�should be deconstructed in rhetoric and composition in a way that will be useful to both new and veteran scholars of whiteness and composition.